Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://www.archive.org/details/forsceptreandcr01samagoog
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. II.

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

(All rights reserved.)

FOR SCEPTRE AND CROWN.

CHAPTER XIII.

[DELAY].

Events did indeed hurry on during those memorable days, and history took as many forward steps in the annals of the world in hours as she had formerly done in years. General von Manteuffel marched from the north; General Vogel von Falckenstein occupied Hanover, and took possession of the government of the country, the king having commanded all magistrates to keep in their various positions; General Beyer concentrated his divided forces in Hesse; General von Seckendorf occupied the country from Magdeburg to Nordhausen, and from Erfurt a part of the garrison and a battery of artillery marched to Eisenach, and there joined the troops of the Duke of Coburg-Gotha, to block the road to the south against the Hanoverian army.

Orders flew from Berlin to the different generals in command, and quick and unanimous movements were made throughout the Prussian army, their aim being to strengthen every point of a circle they were forming around the Hanoverian army, which continually grew stronger and drew closer together.

Now, only the quickest and most direct road to Fulda remained open.

And the brave-spirited army still lay in Göttingen and its immediate neighbourhood.

The general staff worked day and night to prepare it for the march. Certainly the younger officers and men boiled with impatience, and could not understand why the regiments, after making such a sudden march from their various quarters to Göttingen, were not able to march on by a perfectly open road to the south. Certainly old General Brandis shook his head, and said it would be better to break through the enemy with an army unprepared to march, than to be hemmed in with an army prepared to march. Certainly he hinted that the soldiers of the great Wellington had, according to every rule, frequently been unprepared to march, yet they had marched, fought, and conquered. Truly the king gnashed his teeth with impatience; he could do nothing, the ruler whose eyes were deprived of light by the hand of Heaven, but question and urge, and again urge and question.

But the general staff in the aula of Georgia Augusta proved to good General von Arentschildt that, according to all existing rules, the army was not yet ready to march. The rules lay before them, and the general staff was right; and General von Arentschildt told the king the army could not march yet.

The general staff waited, too, for the advance of the Hessians and Bavarians, to combine with the Hanoverian army.

The king was obliged to wait in silent impatience in his rooms at the Crown Hotel.

The troops, in their quarters and cantonments, waited, and their impatience was not silent; on the contrary, the air resounded with good hearty oaths, and impatience was loudest and liveliest amongst the cavalry regiments, where the snorting horses pawed the ground, and the men thought they had but to spring into the saddle to be as ready to march as any cavalry in the world.

They all waited.

Count Platen waited for some relenting on the part of Prince Ysenburg. He had sent an explanation about the Prussian ultimatum from Göttingen to the prince, and he hoped it might be the means of recommencing negotiations; but on the second day the explanation itself came back, opened, it is true, but with the short and cold remark from Prince Ysenburg that after the declaration of hostilities all his diplomatic functions had ceased, and that he was no longer in a position to receive writings from the Hanoverian minister.

So they all waited, and impatience waxed hotter in the army still unprepared to march; but so much had been neglected and left disorderly--so the new leaders of the army found and maintained--that, in spite of all this and all that, they still could not march.

The courier Duve went on his way without meeting a Prussian soldier; he found the Hessian head-quarters not in Fulda, but in Hanau, and there General von Lossberg declared he could not alter the disposition of the army, as Prince Alexander of Hesse had already assumed the command,--besides the army of Hesse-Cassel was immovable.

The courier hastened on; and in Frankfort he delivered to Baron Kübeck, the Austrian presidential ambassador to the confederacy, the despatches confided to him by Count Ingelheim, and he received from Herr von Kübeck an urgent memorial to Prince Alexander of Hesse, who was then in Darmstadt. Duve told the prince all about the position of the Hanoverian army, which was entirely unknown to him. Prince Alexander sent a message, that he would request the Bavarians, who were at Schweinfurth, to march towards the north, and that the eighth corps d'armée at Fulda should march upon Eschwege immediately, to stretch out a hand to the Hanoverian army; and finally, that the Hessian brigade should be pushed forwards from Hanau to Giessen as a demonstration.

It was expected in Prince Alexander's head-quarters that the Hanoverian army would march immediately on the road to Fulda, there join the Hessian brigade, and unite with the eighth army corps. The road to Fulda was free, and only a portion of General Beyer's divided corps could have been met with, and it was improbable that it would have hazarded an encounter.

This was the way they reckoned in Prince Alexander's head-quarters.

But the new Hanoverian generals decided otherwise in the aula of Georgia Augusta. News had arrived partly from travellers, partly from messengers sent to ascertain, that 60,000, 80,000, yes 100,000 Prussian troops blocked the way to Fulda; so it was decided not to take that road, but to march into the midst of the Prussian territory between the Prussian armies, and to get to Eisenach by Heiligenstadt and Treffurt, there to cross the road and to fall in with the Bavarians, from whom they had received no information; but they remained persuaded that they must be there.

In vain old General von Brandis shook his head, and remarked in his curt fashion, that an army who wished to fight must learn to stand up to the enemy; that if Prussian troops were on the road to Fulda, it was one of Wellington's practical maxims for conducting war, "to go on;" that, at any rate, they had a better chance of overthrowing the enemy and reaching the south that way, than by jumping out of the frying-pan into the fire, as they seemed determined to do.

The general staff unanimously determined to march to Heiligenstadt, and the king consented.

At last the army was to move on the morning of the 21st of June, at four o'clock, and a general cry of joy throughout all the quarters and cantonments greeted the order to march.

In exemplary order, as on parade, the valiant brigades formed. The king left Göttingen about five o'clock, the senate of the university and the civic magistrates assembling to take leave of him.

It was a brilliant and dazzling procession which in the early morning light crossed into the Prussian territory.

A half squadron of the Cambridge dragoons formed the body-guard of their royal master.

Mounted on a large and beautiful white horse, which was guided by Major Schweppe of the Guard Cuirassiers, with an almost imperceptible leading rein, rode George V., with the proud knightly bearing which always gave him so imposing and regal an aspect when on horseback; by his side came the crown prince in his hussar uniform, on a small thorough-bred horse. They were surrounded by a numerous suite, both civil and military; old General von Brandis, notwithstanding his seventy-one years, had sent back his carriage, and Count Ingelheim rode beside the king in a grey dress and long stable boots. The brilliant cavalcade was followed by the king's travelling carriage, drawn by six horses, with outriders and piquers; and then a number of other carriages for the suite, led horses, the master of the stables, and servants.

Whenever the royal train passed the troops on the march, a loud, joyful hurrah burst forth, and every brave soldier's heart beat higher when he saw his king amongst them.

The courageous but strategically puzzling march of the Hanoverian army belongs to history, and is fully related in writings upon the war of 1866. It may perhaps be granted to future times to unriddle the extraordinary movements made by the army, and perhaps to explain why the march upon Treffurt was given up when they had reached Heiligenstadt, and their course turned by Mühlhausen to Langensalza; from thence right under the cannon of Erfurt they marched to Eisenach, and then suddenly, when this place was as good as taken, they halted, because an envoy from the Duke of Coburg-Gotha, without credentials, appeared at the Hanoverian headquarters. Major von Jacobi was sent by the Hanoverian general staff to Gotha to clear up this mission; and there, deceived as to the number of Prussian troops occupying Eisenach, he telegraphed such an account of the enemy to Colonel von Bülow, the Hanoverian officer in command, that, misled by the report, he withdrew his troops from Eisenach, and concluded a provisional armistice with the enemy.

When, therefore,--so runs the official report of these events,--General von Arentschildt arrived on the spot at about eight o'clock in the evening, expecting to find Eisenach taken, he was opposed to circumstances that completely defeated his plans, and contradicted all his majesty's views, but which both the armistice just concluded and the approaching night prevented him from grappling with.

Major von Jacobi was brought before a court-martial, the course of which was rendered impossible by succeeding events.

The reception of the envoy, the negotiations commenced with him and with the Duke of Coburg in the midst of military action, combined with the withdrawal of the troops from Eisenach, caused the idea to gain ground in Berlin that the king wished to negotiate; and King William of Prussia, animated by the desire of avoiding a bloody encounter with the Hanoverians, sent General von Alvensleben to the Hanoverian head-quarters, situated on the 25th June at Gross-Behringen, on the road to Eisenach.

During the previous negotiations with the Duke of Coburg, and the withdrawal of the Hanoverian troops, the Prussians had seized the opportunity of reinforcing Eisenach so strongly that it was now very difficult to take it.

General von Alvensleben announced himself in Bavaria as empowered by his majesty the King of Prussia "to receive any commands from the King of Hanover." The negotiations turned upon the proposition made by the Hanoverian council of war, that the Hanoverian troops should be granted a free passage to the south without battle or bloodshed, upon condition of abstaining for a certain time from fighting against Prussia. Prussia required that the time named should be a year, and demanded various guarantees and pledges. The King of Hanover did not accept these stipulations, yet negotiations were not broken off; on the contrary, a suspension of hostilities was concluded, and the king promised a definite answer on the morning of the 26th of June. But when he despatched Colonel Rudorff, of the general staff, early in the morning of the 26th, he was turned back by General Vogel von Falckenstein, who had already arrived in Eisenach and concentrated there nearly two whole divisions. He declared he know nothing of an armistice, and that he should certainly attack the enemy.

The Hanoverian army was thus placed in a most unfavourable position. The king, who had passed the night in Behringen, removed his head-quarters early on the morning of the 26th to the Schützhaus[^[1]] in Langensalza.

The Schützhaus, a large and handsome building, stands back from the road leading to Eisenach, at some little distance from the town; before it is a large open square, and opposite to it rises the spacious post-house. Behind the house there is a large garden surrounded by high walls and covered walks, and a broad verandah connects the house with the garden.

Double sentries were posted before the Schützhaus; in the square stood the royal carriages, and officers of every branch of the service came and went; the aides-de-camp of the general in command, whose head-quarters were in the town, hurried to and fro, to bring the king the latest information,--all was movement and military life.

The army was concentrated around Langensalza, and placed in a defensive position, for as General Vogel von Falckenstein refused to recognize the armistice, a Prussian attack was expected at any moment. After Falckenstein had learnt from General von Alvensleben all particulars, he declared himself willing to respect the suspension of arms; but the defensive position of the Hanoverian army was nevertheless maintained.

The king sat in his room. The expression on his face was very grave. Old General von Brandis stood near him.

"My dear Brandis," said the king gloomily, "I fear we are in very evil case!"

"Alas! I am quite sure we are, your majesty!" replied the general.

"I fear," continued the king, "that these unfortunate and involved negotiations have only served to give the Prussians time to strengthen the forces opposed to us, and to make our position worse. Without these negotiations we should have taken Eisenach and perhaps we should by this time have joined the Bavarians in safety."

"We should certainly have done so," said the general drily. "Your majesty will do me the justice to remember I always spoke strongly against these negotiations," he continued. "According to my opinion your majesty might negotiate or march; but to attempt both together would never succeed. I cannot understand what these negotiations were to lead to. I do not see their aim. To march to the south under the obligation not to fight against Prussia for a certain time----"

"For two months," interrupted the king.

"But what good could it do?" pursued the general; "what reception could we expect in South Germany if we arrived saying, 'Here we are, we want maintenance and quarters, but we can't fight'? I really don't know," said he with some bitterness, "what I should say to such a surprise were I the general commanding the South German troops. I believe that it would have been better to have stayed in Hanover."

A slight look of impatience passed over the king's face, but it vanished immediately, and he said, kindly but gravely,--

"But, my dear Brandis, the commanding general and the general staff assured me the army was unprepared to undertake any serious military operation, and that after we reached South Germany eight weeks at least would be required before it was in a condition to fight! It was for this reason that I entered upon negotiations,--how could I do otherwise?"

"I do not venture," said the general, "to question your majesty's decision or mode of action, but I must again repeat I do not understand the theories which govern the general staff. The results of all their labour are only negative, and their movements continual retreats. Yet, your majesty," he cried, "we want to go forwards! and to go forwards we must march. To march straight on invigorates an army, to halt long in one place wearies it, but aimless marching hither and thither will in the end demoralize it."

The king was silent and sighed deeply.

"Your majesty," said the general with warmth and energy, "there is but one way now which can save us, and that is a hasty march upon Gotha. The Prussians expect from our previous operations that we shall work across the railway near Eisenach, and they have drawn together their greatest strength in that direction. Let your majesty at once direct your course by forced marches upon Gotha, we shall find but little resistance, and we shall break through it. We have nineteen thousand men; even if we lose four thousand, we shall still reach--and of this I am certain--South Germany with fifteen thousand men; we shall bring immediate assistance, and above all things we shall maintain the honour of your majesty's banner in the field. If we stay here," he added sorrowfully, "we must end badly."

"But the negotiations with Alvensleben," said the king hesitating,--"Count Platen still hopes for a favourable result."

"What result?" exclaimed General von Brandis; "the results of the negotiations on either side have not been brilliant."

"Count Platen!" announced the groom of the chambers.

The king made a sign, and Count Platen entered.

"Your majesty," he cried, "the Prussian Colonel von Döring has arrived as an envoy from Berlin, and brings a despatch from Count Bismarck; it appears that in Berlin they still wish to negotiate."

"Let the colonel come immediately," said the king.

General Brandis shrugged his shoulders and walked to the window.

Count Platen returned with the Prussian staff-officer.

"Colonel von Döring!" said the count, introducing him, whilst he approached the king with a stiff military salute; "he begs permission to read your majesty a despatch from the minister-president, Count Bismarck."

"I am prepared to listen, colonel," replied the king.

The colonel opened a paper which he held in his hand.

"I must first remark to your majesty," he said, "that I consider myself freed from my charge, as I find negotiations are broken off, and General Vogel von Falckenstein already meditating an attack."

"Your communication then will be useless?" asked the king coldly.

"Nevertheless, if your majesty permits, I will carry out my orders."

"Even yet----" began Count Platen.

"Read, colonel," said the king.

The colonel slowly read the despatch. It was an exact repetition of the ultimatum received through Prince Ysenburg on the 15th, and proposed a treaty on the foundation of the Prussian project of reform.

"Does this man believe," cried the king, as the colonel ended, "that I shall now----"

"Your majesty," said Colonel von Döring in a firm voice, "I humbly beg you graciously to consider that I, as a Prussian officer, cannot hear any derogatory expression applied to the minister-president."

"Is he not a man like ourselves?" asked the king, with dignity. "Does Count Bismarck believe," he continued, "that I shall in the field, at the head of my army, accept conditions which I rejected in my cabinet at Herrenhausen, and that I shall now allow my army to march against Austria?"

"Could not a short time be granted for consideration?" suggested Count Platen.

"I have no orders for granting time," said Colonel von Döring.

"And I do not need it," said the king, "in giving you my answer. It is the same as before; it is to these propositions simply 'No.' I have listened to negotiations in the hope of preventing useless bloodshed and diminishing the burdens of our countrymen, but upon this basis I cannot negotiate; events must take their course, I can do nothing more to restrain them. I thank you, colonel, and I wish I had made your acquaintance on a happier occasion. Take care, gentlemen," he added, turning to Count Platen and General Brandis, "that the colonel is led in safety to our outposts."

Colonel von Döring made a military salute and left the king's room, accompanied by the two ministers.

Count Ingelheim walked thoughtfully to and fro before the house, and looked up from time to time with an anxious expression at the king's windows. Groups of officers stood around in animated conversation. They knew that a Prussian envoy was with the king, and all these brave young officers, thirsting for the battle, feared nothing more than that they should capitulate without fighting.

"We could never again be seen in a Hanoverian uniform," cried a young officer of one of the Guard regiments with a rosy childish face, as he stamped with his foot, "if we were ensnared without drawing the sword, as in a mousetrap. We have been marching a fortnight, now here, now there; now waiting for the Bavarians, then for the Hessians, and never going forwards. So much was expected from this new commander; and now ..."

An eager young officer on a swift horse galloped up in the Guard Jäger uniform, the star of a commander of the order of Ernest Augustus on his breast. He threw himself from the saddle, gave his horse to his servant, who had hastened after him, and walked up to the group of officers.

"Well, prince," cried the lieutenant in the Guards, "where do you come from so hastily?"

"I have ridden out a little amongst the troops," replied Prince Hermann von Solms-Braunfels, the king's youngest nephew, as he endeavoured to seize the down just shading his upper lip with his fingers. "I am in despair, for in spite of my earnest request the king has commanded me to be here at head-quarters, but from time to time I must escape into the free life of the camp, and enjoy a little fresh air. Where are you stationed, Herr von Landesberg?" he inquired of the young lieutenant.

"Here in Langensalza," he replied, "fretting over the inactivity imposed upon us by the general staff. The king should just listen to us, the young officers of the army; he would soon be convinced that the army was ready both to march and to fight."

"God knows it is so," exclaimed an hussar officer, drawing his long moustache through his fingers; "I cannot comprehend why we have a general staff only to arrange such marches as we have made. I have heard an old story of the Crusaders, or some such people," continued the hussar drily, "who let a goose go before them, and followed the line of march pursued by the fowl. That was both a simpler and a kinder course, for now they strip the poor bird of its feathers and write with them night and day--and nothing more clever comes of it."

"See, there comes the Prussian envoy back!" cried Herr von Landesberg, and the officers approached the Schützhaus, at the door of which Colonel Döring, accompanied by General von Brandis and Count Platen, appeared.

Whilst General von Brandis called the carriage and ordered a guard of four dragoons to accompany it, Count Platen politely took leave of the Prussian colonel and hastened to Count Ingelheim, who met him full of anxiety.

"It was the ultimatum of the 15th over again," cried the minister to the Austrian ambassador.

"And...?" asked Count Ingelheim.

"Of course it was at once declined," exclaimed Count Platen.

"Then these luckless negotiations are over at last?" asked Count Ingelheim, watching with secret relief Colonel von Döring's carriage as it rolled away.

"Quite at an end," said Count Platen, as he sighed slightly.

"Do you know, dear count," proceeded the ambassador, "that in my opinion your position here is a very serious one? You are in a corner between the Prussian armies, and I see only one way out; that is by a hasty march upon Gotha."

"Yes, the king is quite ready to go forward, but the general staff----"

"Would to heaven!" cried Count Ingelheim energetically, "that his majesty had retained his old officers; I do not believe that Tschirschnitz would have allowed these constantly retrograde marches."

"Yes," said Count Platen, with a slight shrug, "it is so difficult for me to do anything in military affairs. In Göttingen the wish seemed universal."

"The wish is universal to act and to march; do you see that knot of officers? I am sure they are of my opinion;" and he pointed out a group in which Lieutenant von Landesberg was just expressing his joy at the envoy's departure, and his hopes of speedy action.

Prince Hermann left the officers and joined Platen and Ingelheim.

"The envoy is not coming back again?" he asked.

"No, prince," cried Count Ingelheim, "I hope he is the last."

Four post-horses dashed quickly along the road, drawing a close carriage with a servant in travelling livery upon the box.

"Who is this?" cried Count Platen, with surprise, and all eyes turned upon the carriage as it drew up before the house. The servant sprang down and opened the door.

An old gentleman in travelling dress, wrapped in a large Havelock cloak, his white head covered with a black cap, got out slowly and looked around as if seeking for something.

"Persiany!" exclaimed Prince Hermann.

"Good heavens, Persiany!" cried Count Platen, with amazement; then, with a pleased look and hasty footstep he met and welcomed the Emperor of Russia's ambassador at the Hanoverian court.

"What does he want here?" asked Count Ingelheim; and a dark cloud passed over his face.

"It looks well for us, as far as the inclinations of Russia go," said the prince; "and," he continued, with a smile, "he is at least no Prussian envoy."

"Who knows?" murmured Count Ingelheim. And an investigating look followed Count Platen's meeting with Persiany.

"At last I have found you, my dear count," cried the Russian ambassador, an old gentleman with strongly marked features and dark piercing eyes, which now wore an expression of the greatest anxiety. "Thank God that this horrible journey is at an end." And he held out a hand trembling with weakness to the minister.

"You will never believe what I have gone through," he continued, as he took off his cloak, "in that dreadful carriage, always delayed by the movements of the troops, without sleep, without proper nourishment, at my age."

"Well," said Count Platen, "you can now rest at least; we cannot offer you much, our head-quarters are not rich in comforts----"

"But first," interrupted Monsieur de Persiany, "where is his majesty? I beg an immediate audience; I come by the command of my gracious master and emperor."

Count Platen looked surprised, and listened attentively; then he exclaimed,--

"Come with me, I will at once announce your arrival to his majesty."

He gave his arm to the old gentleman, who trembled from exhaustion, and assisted him in mounting the stairs leading to the upper rooms of the Schützhaus.

In the ante-room Monsieur de Persiany sank into a chair. Count Platen entered the king's apartment and found him resting on a sofa. Lex sat near him, reading aloud.

"Forgive me for disturbing you, your majesty," said the minister, "but Monsieur de Persiany is here at the command of the Emperor Alexander, and he requests an immediate audience."

George V. rose, an expression of joy shining in his face.

"How?" he cried, with animation,--"and what does he bring? let him come in!"

Count Platen led the Russian ambassador into the room.

"Welcome to the camp, my dear Monsieur de Persiany!" cried the king, holding out his hand to him as he entered.

The old gentleman seized it, and said, in trembling voice,--

"Good God, your majesty! what times are these? how painful it is to me to see you under such circumstances!"

His hand shook and tears glittered in his eyes.

"Monsieur de Persiany is much exhausted by his journey, your majesty," said Count Platen.

The king seated himself on the sofa, and exclaimed,--

"Pray sit down, Monsieur de Persiany, you are in want of refreshment. Lex, go and find a glass of wine."

"I thank you, I thank your majesty most humbly," said the old gentleman, as he sank into a chair as if quite exhausted. "I shall find something by and by. Now let me impart to your majesty all that the emperor, my gracious master, has commanded me to say. I was to seek your head-quarters, and to assure you of his friendly sympathy."

"The emperor is very good," said the king; "I recognize in this the friendship he has always shown me, and to which my whole heart responds."

"The emperor commanded me," continued Persiany, with labouring breath, "to place myself at your majesty's disposal, as he understood negotiations were being carried on with Prussia, and thought the intervention of a neutral power, friendly alike to both sovereigns----"

The king's brow clouded.

"Negotiations have been broken off," he said.

"Good heavens!" cried Persiany, "I have come too late!" And he sank back in his chair as if broken down by the thought that his fatiguing journey had been in vain.

"Is it then quite impossible to prevent bloodshed?" he asked, folding his trembling hands; "the emperor firmly believes that the king of Prussia is desirous of coming to an understanding, and if your majesty----"

"My dear Monsieur de Persiany," said the king, "I do not know how I could again commence negotiations. The Prussians, just before your arrival, offered me the ultimatum which I could not accept on the 15th, and I have again refused it."

"My God! my God!" cried Persiany, "what a misfortune it is at such a moment to be so old and feeble, no longer master of my nerves. Possibly through my mediation you might again----" He could add no more, his voice failed him, he was almost fainting.

"My dear ambassador," said the king, in a gentle voice, "I thank you heartily for the rapid and fatiguing journey you have undertaken in order to prove to me the friendship and amiable wishes of the emperor; but at present nothing can be done. You stand greatly in need of rest and refreshment, I beg you to withdraw. Count Platen will take care of you."

"I thank you, I thank your majesty," said Persiany, rising with difficulty; "I stand in need of a little nourishment. I shall soon be à mon aise; under all circumstances I am at your majesty's disposal."

His strength threatened to fail him, he took Count Platen's arm, and was led by him into a room in which a bed was prepared, upon which the exhausted old man immediately fell into a slumber, whilst his servant repaired to the meagrely supplied kitchen in search of some refreshment with which to restore his master's strength when he awoke.

Count Platen sought the Austrian ambassador as he paced up and down the garden.

"Well, some new negotiation, is it not so?" asked Count Ingelheim, casting a penetrating glance at the minister.

"It appears," he replied, "that in St. Petersburg, either from their own inclination or the wish of Prussia, they desire to mediate--perhaps Colonel von Döring's mission was connected--but at all events----"

"My dear count," interrupted the Austrian ambassador gravely; "I refrained from any remark whilst negotiations continued; they were, in form at least, of a military nature; you see the military position into which these negotiations have led you; you are shut in between the Prussian armies, crushed--if you do not quickly seize the only way in which lies safety. Will you give the enemy time to close the only road now open, that leading to Gotha, by again commencing negotiations? Besides, this time," he added, "the affair is political, and I must seriously call your attention to its political results. The former negotiations have placed your military position in great danger; shall your political position be also imperilled? What will be said in Vienna, if even at this moment no reliance can be placed on Hanover; and if through the mediation of Russia, negotiations are again begun with Prussia?"

"But not the smallest negotiation is begun," said Count Platen.

"Because good old Persiany is asleep," said Count Ingelheim; "because he has no nerve. But when he wakes, I beg you, Count Platen, send this Russian mediator away; do you still hope to find any support except in Austria? or do you wish to be excluded from her sympathy, and from the benefits to be gained by the great struggle about to take place?"

"But I ask you, on what excuse?" said Count Platen hesitatingly.

"On what excuse?" cried Count Ingelheim; "the sickly old man will accept any excuse with thankfulness that sends him out of this noise, these hardships, and the near neighbourhood of cannon. Consider," he continued urgently, "what will be said in Vienna, by the emperor, who builds so strongly upon Hanover, by all your friends in society, who count so much upon you, the Schwarzenbergs, the Dietrichsteins, Countess Mensdorff, Countess Clam-Gallas----"

"Persiany shall go!" exclaimed Count Platen; "they know in Vienna my devotion to Austria; in the exposed position of Hanover----"

"It is best to hold firmly to one side or the other," said Count Ingelheim, "and to gain a sure friend, even at the twelfth hour."

"I will go to the king," said Count Platen, and he walked slowly towards the house.

Count Ingelheim looked after him, and shook his head slightly.

"If he only meets no one on the way," he said to himself. "I fear," he added, continuing his soliloquy, "I fear matters here will not end well; there is no connecting link between the heroic king and his brave army; this general staff is ignorant of war, it knows but one maxim, to get out of the enemy's way whenever he shows himself; and the crown prince----"

He sighed deeply.

"However," he added, "we have always gained something. The Hanoverian campaign has cost Prussia much time; has absorbed many troops; all this is clear gain on our side; the occupation of the country absorbs much of its strength; above all things an understanding, a political arrangement, must be prevented which would leave the enemy's hands free here in the north. But here comes my northern colleague!" And he hastened to meet the Russian ambassador as he came out of the house.

Monsieur de Persiany had slept a little, had refreshed his toilette a little, and had eaten a little, and he looked much fresher than before. But his footsteps were still uncertain as he walked to meet Count Ingelheim.

"Welcome to head-quarters, my dear colleague," cried the latter, as he held out his hand; "the corps diplomatique is well represented--I was its only member up to this time! You are fatigued by the journey, are you not?"

"Tired to death!" cried Persiany, as he sank upon a garden seat, where Count Ingelheim placed himself at his side; "tired to death, and it does not appear that they have much to revive one here."

"No, that there certainly is not," said Count Ingelheim; "the whole day noise, trumpet calls, bugle sounds----"

"Horrible!" exclaimed Persiany.

"And at night no bed, or at best a hard straw mattress."

Persiany folded his hands and raised his eyes to heaven.

"These are only slight disagreeables which we scarcely think of," said Count Ingelheim.

Persiany looked at him with an expression of great surprise.

"It will be much more unpleasant when action really begins, when real fighting commences," said the Austrian diplomatist; "the king is certain to be in the midst, and we must of course be with him."

"Do you think we should really be in danger?" asked Persiany, "our diplomatic character----"

"Will scarcely preserve me from imprisonment," said Count Ingelheim; "for we are at war with Prussia. With you it is somewhat different: you are certain to be treated with consideration, so soon as you have identified yourself before a commander of troops. But in the mêlée!..." And he shrugged his shoulders.

"Should we really have cause to fear?" asked Persiany.

"My dear colleague," replied Count Ingelheim, sighing slightly, and casting a penetrating look at the Russian diplomatist, "a cannon ball, the pistol of an hussar, the sword of a cuirassier, little heed the diplomatic character."

"My God!" cried Persiany. "But if fighting begins I scarcely think I ought to remain here; we are at peace with Prussia."

"It will come suddenly, I think, and without much warning; there will be no choice," said Count Ingelheim drily. "I do not believe our lives will be actually in danger; but really it will be sufficiently unpleasant to hear the noise of battle--to see the blood--the corpses----"

Persiany fell back on the bench, and his white lips trembled as he thought of such a trial to his nerves.

"I wonder if they have some soda-water here?" he asked.

"I do not think so," said Count Ingelheim; "we do not find such things, and the small store they have is carefully put aside for the wounded in the approaching engagement. At the king's table we have thin beer, cold beef, and baked potatoes."

"Impossible!" cried Persiany.

Count Ingelheim shrugged his shoulders.

"What would you have?" said he; "you cannot expect good dinners in the midst of war; besides, we sportsmen are accustomed----"

"But I am not a sportsman!" cried Persiany.

"Here comes Count Platen," exclaimed the Austrian ambassador; "perhaps he will bring us some news."

Count Platen came and begged the Russian ambassador, who was greatly shaken by Count Ingelheim's descriptions, to accompany him to the king.

"You do not believe further negotiations are possible?" asked Persiany, as he ascended the steps.

"I do not think the king will permit anything to be attempted," replied Count Platen, after a short hesitation.

"Then----" said M. de Persiany--but he could not express his thoughts, for they had reached the door of the king's room.

"My dear Monsieur de Persiany," said George V., "I sent for you in order----I hope, though, you are somewhat rested."

"I thank your majesty," said Persiany, sighing; "I am a little stronger."

"I sent for you," said the king, "to thank you for the zeal which caused you to undertake a journey, doubly fatiguing to one of your years, and in your weak health, for the purpose of expressing to me the emperor's friendly regard, and his hearty desire to mediate. I would also beg you to remain longer at my head-quarters----"

A slight flush passed over Persiany's face; he gasped.

"If," continued the king, "there were the least possibility of negotiating, after Colonel von Döring had been the bearer of a proposal again based on the Prussian project of reform, which I had already declined. Also the envoy considered his commission actually annulled before he delivered it. I should therefore only torment you, and injure your health uselessly, by exposing you to the tumult and fatigues of war, if I kept you with me. I beg you therefore to return to Hanover. Your advice will be useful to the queen. Pray thank the emperor most heartily and sincerely for his sympathy and friendship."

"If your majesty is really of opinion that all hope of negotiation is over, that I should be useless to you, and that I might perhaps be of service to her majesty the queen in Hanover----"

"That is quite my opinion," said the king.

"If it were possible," said Persiany, "that perhaps the course of events,--opposed to a superior power,--still the moment for negotiation might come,--it would be my duty to remain,--and only your majesty's distinct command----"

"If it must be so," said the king, "I give this command; set out immediately, and tell the queen how you found me and the army."

"Then I must obey," cried Persiany. "I pray God to bless your majesty, and to guide things to a happy termination."

With great emotion the old gentleman seized the hand the king offered him, and a tear fell upon it.

The king smiled good-humouredly.

"I know what a true affection you bear towards me and my family. God protect you--and your emperor!" he added heartily.

Persiany returned with Count Platen to the garden, where Count Ingelheim awaited them.

"Well, my dear colleague," he cried, "you look much more cheerful. Are you growing reconciled to camp life?"

"The king has dismissed me," said Persiany; "he sends me back to Hanover; my old carcass will no longer undergo such trials. But," he added, turning to Count Platen, "by the way that I came, by the same will I not return; send me to Gotha. I will get to Frankfort, from there perhaps to Umwegen, but yet it will be the quickest and safest road. I must set out at once. I may be of use in Hanover."

The old gentlemen pressed Count Ingelheim's hand, and tripped hastily to the house, leaning on Count Platen's arm. His carriage and a guard were soon ready.

"The storm has blown over," said Count Ingelheim, rubbing his hands, and laughing as he looked after the Russian ambassador; "yes, if they wish to succeed in diplomacy in these times, they must send people with strong muscles and firm nerves."

And he walked with youthful elasticity towards the house.

An hour later the king hold a council of war. He assembled the general in command, the general staff, the adjutant-general, and General von Brandis. He also requested Count Platen, Count Ingelheim, and Herr Meding to be present.

The king urged an immediate advance upon Gotha. General von Brandis, Colonel Dammers, and all the non-military gentlemen strongly supported the king's opinion.

Colonel Cordemann, the chief of the general staff, insisted strongly that the army, in consequence of its exhausting marches and scanty food, could not possibly undertake offensive movements, and that their course was to take up a defensive position, and make a courageous defence if attacked. The whole of the general staff agreed with the chief, and the general in command stated that under existing circumstances he could not be responsible for the consequences of an onward march.

The king gave his consent to the dispositions agreed upon with a sigh, but he declared that he would pass the night amongst his troops, and about midnight, accompanied by the whole of his suite, their royal master established himself amongst his soldiers for the night.

The royal bivouac was in a corn-field near to Merxleben, and everyone listened with anxious expectation until the morning dawned.

All was quiet. The outposts sent in no news of any movement on the part of the enemy.

About four o'clock in the morning one of the emissaries sent out several days before towards the south, returned with the intelligence that the Bavarians had been seen advancing in several detachments, and that even on the 25th they had reached Bacha. The complete inactivity of the enemy seemed to support this information, and it was believed the Prussian forces were drawn away in that direction.

This idea gave great satisfaction in head-quarters, and it was determined to wait in a strong position for the confirmation of the intelligence and the approach of the Bavarians. General von Brandis alone shook his head, and opined that if the Bavarians were advancing and the Prussians occupied in the south, it was a stronger reason for hastening as quickly as possible to meet them, and stretching towards them a helping hand, before the overwhelming Prussian forces could come down upon them from the north.

The order was given to erect batteries, and the king and his suite, exhausted by a sleepless night, repaired to Thamsbrück, a small village on the banks of the Unstrut, and there the king took up his quarters in the Pfarrhaus.

Clear and brilliant rose the sun on the 27th of June, and his first rays lighted up the varied changing picture of the Hanoverian army encamped around Langensalza.

CHAPTER XIV.

[LANGENSALZA].

At about five in the morning the king withdrew to the quiet Pfarrhaus on the hill at Thamsbrück, and retired to rest. From the dispositions made by the general staff a delay of several days was expected, with probably some defensive fighting, whilst tidings were awaited of a more certain nature from the Bavarians.

Beneath a large and ancient linden-tree in front of the pastor's house the king's suite were assembled, discussing an extremely simple but much-relished breakfast.

A large table covered with a white cloth bore a coffee service of blue and white pottery, such as is traditional in all primitive old country-houses in North Germany, and the perfume which arose from the large pot standing on an ancient-looking chafing-dish was certainly not from Mocha.

A ham, a few sausages, a large black loaf, and a small piece of butter completed the provisions, over which Count Erhardt Wedel presided with the strictest impartiality.

The whole party did honour to the breakfast, with appetites rarely seen at the chamberlain's table at Herrenhausen.

"There seems to be an immense proportion of water in this beverage," said General von Brandis, gazing with curiosity at the brown fluid in his blue cup.

"If the coffee has too much water, it makes up for the dryness of the sausage," remarked Count Ingelheim, as he attempted to cut a slice with his pocket-knife, but the stony nature of the sausage successfully resisted all his efforts.

"At least the drink is warm," said Count Platen, as pale and shivering he sipped the smoking coffee.

"I don't know that warm water is much better than cold," grumbled General Brandis, without making up his mind to put his cup to his lips. "It has its merits as an outward application, but to drink it without a prudent admixture of some stimulating body is unpleasant, especially so early in the morning."

"Your excellency shares the prejudices of the ancient legions against water," said Count Wedel, laughing. "They used to say, as water was so unpleasant when it got into their boots, how much more disagreeable it would be if it got into their stomachs!"

"Wellington's veterans lived before the discovery of hydropathy," said little Herr Lex, as he busied himself in overcoming a large piece of ham.

"They were right!" cried General Brandis, with comic gravity. "Fire was their element," he added, setting his cup down untasted upon the table; "they did not carry on war with sugared water, as seems the present fashion."

"Perhaps I can offer your excellency a better drink for this chilly morning," said Prince Hermann Solms, drawing out a field flask covered with plaited straw. "I have a little excellent cognac left."

"You are a help in need, my dear prince," cried the old gentleman, smiling. "I will repay you some day!"

The prince, hastening into the house, came back with a kettle full of hot water, and he soon mixed the old general a glass of grog, with such a homoeopathic allowance of water that his cheerfulness quite returned.

A loud hurrah resounded from the stable-like buildings at one side of the house, and the Crown Prince Ernest Augustus hurried from them and joined the breakfast party.

He carried his handkerchief carefully tied together in one hand, and his cap in the other.

"Guess what I have here, gentlemen!" he cried, raising both hands above his head. "Fresh eggs--just laid. Is it not a glorious find?" And he emptied the cap and the handkerchief upon the table. "Now, shall we boil them, or shall we make an omelette?"

"Why any preparation?" said General Brandis, seizing an egg, decapitating it with his sword, and hastily drinking the contents. "It is easy to see that the present generation are unaccustomed to the rigours of war."

Count Ingelheim followed his example.

"It would be great fun, though, to make an omelette!" cried the crown prince, holding his hands over the rest of his spoil.

"Alas! we have plenty of time," murmured General Brandis.

"Listen!" cried Meding, springing to his feet.

"A cannon shot," said Count Ingelheim, putting his hand to his car.

"Impossible!" remarked the adjutant-general; "where should it come from? The general staff does not expect an attack."

A short, heavy, distant sound was heard.

"Those are certainly guns!" cried Count Wedel.

"I think they are beginning to growl," said General Brandis, rising and drinking off the rest of his grog with a look of satisfaction. "It would be as well to mount!"

"Shall his majesty be awakened?" asked Count Wedel.

"It will be time enough to call him if anything serious really appears," said Colonel Dammers. "I will go up to the top of the house, from whence one can overlook the whole plain."

He entered the house; Prince Hermann followed him, and the others listened anxiously to the sound of firing, which grew louder and more distinct every moment.

"After all, an omelette would be too much trouble," said the crown prince, putting his eggs into the kettle, the contents of which had not been much diminished by the general's grog. He placed it on the chafing-dish and blew the charcoal, listening attentively for the water to boil.

After a short time Colonel Dammers returned.

"Some strong columns are visible on the distant horizon; I can see their arms glittering through the dust!" he cried. "His majesty must be called."

Count Wedel hurried into the house.

Signals were heard from the plain. A general march was beginning in various parts of the camp.

George V. came out of the Pfarrhaus. They all approached the king.

"Your majesty," cried General Brandis, "I hear with joy the well-known voice of cannon; it makes my old heart young again."

The king's face expressed high courage and calm determination. He held out his hand to the general.

"I hear this voice in earnest for the first time," he said; "but, my dear general, my heart, too, beats higher at the sound. Now negotiations are impossible. God be with us!"

He folded his hands and raised his head silently to heaven. All those around him involuntarily followed his example.

The sound of horse's hoofs was heard. An officer of the garde du corps, springing from the saddle, informed the king, from the general in command, that the enemy were drawing up in strong columns upon the road from Gotha, and that the general begged his majesty to leave Thamsbrück immediately, and to go to the hills behind Merxleben.

Count Wedel hurried away; the horses were saddled and the carriages prepared.

"General von Arentschildt further begs your majesty's commands and instructions as to the capitulation which may be needful during the action," said the aide-de-camp.

General Brandis bit his moustache. Count Ingelheim stamped upon the ground.

"What does he mean?" asked the king quietly.

"The general staff," continued the officer, "has represented to the general that the troops are so worn out and badly fed that they may be unable to endure the fatigue of battle; he therefore begs permission to capitulate should he deem it needful. He has drawn up an instruction on this point, and he begs your majesty to send it back to him signed." He handed the king a paper.

The king had closed his teeth firmly, and he drew his breath with a sharp, almost hissing sound.

Without the slightest movement of haste or anger he took the paper and tore it through.

"Ride back to General Arentschildt," he said in a calm ringing voice, "and tell him my commands, to resist to the last man!"

The officer's face brightened. With a military salute he turned sharply round, sprang into the saddle, and galloped off.

"And now forwards! gentlemen," cried the king.

"Father, have a new-laid egg!" And the crown prince, hurrying up, offered the king a plate, on which was a specimen of his cooking.

"Eat it, your majesty," said General Brandis; "there is no saying when or where you may get anything else." And he handed the king an egg, after breaking the shell with the hilt of his sword.

The king ate it and turned to the horses.

They mounted and set out; dragoons preceded them and acted as a guard; the carriages and the led horses followed.

As the king rode out of the village of Thamsbrück, the artillery duel had already fully commenced.

From the hill above they saw the lines of the enemy's skirmishers before the town of Langensalza. The enemy's batteries were on the farther side of the Unstrut, and kept up an energetic fire, to which the Hanoverian artillery replied from the opposite bank. The infantry were engaged before the town, and the Hanoverian cavalry were seen on one side slowly withdrawing.

"Where shall we ride?" asked the king.

"To a hill behind Merxleben, from whence we can overlook the whole battle-field, your majesty," replied the adjutant-general.

"We are going away from the thunder of the cannon!" said the king.

"There is a turn in the road to the left," replied Colonel Dammers.

"Then we must ride to the right to keep near the fighting," said the king calmly, turning his head in the direction whence came the sound of firing. "Schweppe," he said to the major of guard cuirassiers who held his leading rein, "I command you to ride in that direction."

"There is no road, your majesty," he replied.

"Then we will ride through the fields." And the royal procession moved on, in the direction the king had indicated.

The sound of the cannon was heard nearer and nearer, mingled with the rattle of small arms.

The king and his suite rode to an eminence where the plain was bounded by a chain of hills; the party being rendered conspicuous to both sides from the dragoons, and the brilliant uniforms of the suite.

A few balls flew over their heads and the horses began to be uneasy.

Suddenly the enemy's artillery appeared to choose the king's party as their mark, and shells flew thicker and thicker over them, striking the ground now before them, now behind them.

The adjutant-general sprang to the king's side.

"Your majesty!" he cried, "we are under a heavy fire, I conjure your majesty--"

Count Platen and General von Brandis also implored the king to withdraw from such imminent peril.

The king reined in his horse.

The whole escort stood still.

"Can my troops see me here?" asked George V.

"Certainly, your majesty," replied the adjutant-general, "your majesty's position is visible from the whole of the plain."

"Good," said the king, simply. And he quietly remained on the spot.

The shells flew hissing through the air, the bullets of the small arms whistled through the valley, and the frightened horses throwing up their heads snorted and trembled; the blind king, the Guelphic prince, who was ready to give his life for what his proud heart told him was the right, halted upon the brow of the hill, motionless as a marble statue, that his soldiers might see him.

With a maddening hurrah the Hanoverian columns greeted the king as they marched past him, and sank their waving banners low before their royal master, who returned their greeting calmly and quietly each time it was announced to him.

"If we stand here much longer," said Count Ingelheim to General Brandis, "a ball will sooner or later solve the Hanoverian question in a very simple manner."

"Yes, indeed!" replied Count Platen, looking at a shell that had fallen unpleasantly near the king, "they are improving in their practice; but if we venture to tell him so we shall have to stay here all the longer."

"Your majesty," said General Brandis, riding up to the king, "there is a turn in the fighting, and I think your majesty would be more visible upon the hill which was first selected for your position."

"Are you quite sure, Brandis?" said the king.

"I am sure your majesty would be in a better position there," replied the general.

"Let us go then!" cried the king, touching his horse with the spur; it bounded forwards so rapidly that Major Schweppe had some difficulty in holding the guiding rein.

Their rapid pace soon brought them to the hill, near which the reserve cavalry were placed.

The king rode on to the highest point. His suite surrounded him, some dismounted, and followed the movements of the troops with field-glasses and telescopes.

The carriages were drawn up in a large semicircle.

The king stood motionless. Not a feature of his pale, noble face changed. The adjutant-general informed him of the course of the fighting as far as it could be made out, the gentlemen of the suite sometimes expressed by loud shouts the result of their observations, but generally they imparted to each other in low tones their hopes and fears.

Whilst this was going on at head-quarters, the Duke of Cambridge's dragoon regiment had been employed since the early morning in outpost duty near the village of Hemingsleben, on the road leading from Langensalza to Gotha.

Before the village was the toll-house with its black and white bar raised, and beside it stood the most advanced outpost.

Lieutenant von Stolzenberg commanded the outpost, and with him was his somewhat younger comrade Lieutenant von Wendenstein.

The morning sun shone brightly, and the two young officers stood near their horses, gazing over the plain, which spread far around them, and which was crossed by the grey band of the high road. Some straw lay on the ground, but none of the provisions appeared which, on the evening of their march into Göttingen, the young men had obtained for their supper.

With a weary, half-sleepy look, Wendenstein drew out his pocket flask, took a good drink and handed it to his companion. Then taking a piece of black bread from his pocket, and breaking it up, he slowly swallowed one morsel after another.

"Do you know, Stolzenberg," he said, with a slight shiver, "this sort of warfare in the chill of dawn makes one feel far from courageous. We did not think of such campaigning as this when we started."

He gave his horse a piece of bread moistened with brandy.

"No, indeed!" said Stolzenberg with a sigh, as he took a sip from the flask. "But where the devil did you get that horrid liquor from?"

"I found it at the inn in the village. What can you do? When your cognac is at an end, you must put up with potato spirit. It is a shame that we have nothing to eat and drink; there is plenty, but the provision column never comes up, and when one has a hope of getting something, the alarm is given; it is 'forwards!' again."

"Forwards!" cried Stolzenberg, "I think we have not been going forwards for long enough. And the beautiful flocks of sheep we saw on both sides of the roads, and which we dare not touch for our lives! Donnerwetter!" he cried, stamping his foot; "to be in an enemy's country and not to be allowed to requisition the necessaries of life is too much!"

"Don't you know," said Wendenstein, laughing, "that the general staff has so much to do in getting out of the enemy's way, that it has no time to remember that people must eat; and besides, it would really be difficult for the provision columns to follow our very eccentric march!"

"I cannot imagine how the king is satisfied with such a method of conducting a campaign," said Stolzenberg; "he wishes to go forwards, and these changes hither and thither do not accord with his character."

"Our poor king!" said Wendenstein, sighing; "what can he do? If indeed he could see--but as it is! It is really wonderful that he should go through the fatigue of the campaign with us."

"What is that?" exclaimed Stolzenberg, raising his glass to his eyes, and looking attentively across the plain. "Look over there, Wendenstein, just behind the bend in the road. Do you not see a long cloud of dust?"

Wendenstein looked through his glass in the direction pointed out.

"I see bayonets glittering through the dust!" he cried, energetically; "Stolzenberg, old man, I believe it is the enemy!"

"I believe it is!" he replied, still gazing at the distant cloud of dust. "There is no doubt of it! A column of infantry, and there!--artillery, too! Wendenstein, ride back at once, and say a column of infantry and artillery are advancing on the road from Gotha!"

"Hurrah!" cried Wendenstein, as he sprang into the saddle and galloped back to the village.

Stolzenberg and his dragoons were in the saddle in a moment. Drawn up in order upon the road, they looked anxiously over the plain. The cloud of dust slowly grew nearer, and they could see more plainly the bright flashing of the bayonets.

After a short time horsemen from the village joined the outpost. The colonel in command of the regiment, Count Kielmansegge, came, accompanied by his staff with Lieutenant von Wendenstein.

"Look there, sir!" cried Stolzenberg, and pointed to the enemy's approaching columns.

The colonel looked earnestly for a moment through his glass.

"It is certainly the enemy!" he cried, "and see! there is a battery being posted upon yonder hill. All outposts to fall back on their squadrons!" cried he to his staff, who galloped off immediately.

Stolzenberg recalled his vedettes.

"And what will the regiment do, if I may be allowed to ask?" he said, turning to his colonel.

"Slowly retire, whilst skirmishing with the enemy, such is the order," he replied, sighing and shrugging his shoulders; and he hastened back to the village to which the other outposts had already withdrawn.

"Retire, always retire!" cried Wendenstein, passionately. "Well! some time or other they will reckon on these tactics without the troops!"

There was a sudden flash from the hill, followed by an explosion, and a cannon ball splintered the bar of the toll-house on the high road.

"The overture begins!" cried Stolzenberg; and with his few men he trotted quickly back to the village.

This was the shot they heard at head-quarters in Thamsbrück.

The regiment withdrew, constantly skirmishing with the enemy, and fell back slowly upon Langensalza.

In the meantime the town was abandoned, the order of the general in command ran, "that the army whilst fighting should retreat."

At Langensalza the dragoons fell in with the infantry of the Knesebeck Brigade, which had received orders to retire behind the Unstrut. The troops obeyed this order with gnashing of teeth, and gave up one position after the other, for the enemy forthwith to seize upon; the enemy's riflemen harassed them, and the artillery advancing along the heights opened a nearer and more murderous fire.

The dragoons crossed the bridge over the Unstrut, and made a stand before the village of Merxleben, on the slope of the Kirchberg hill, from whose summit a Hanoverian battery maintained a fire, which, though less rapid than the Prussian, was so well directed that it did great execution in the hostile ranks.

To the right of the dragoons, General Knesebeck's brigade was massed, he having followed the command he had received to retire. On the other side of the Unstrut stood a mill, upon a small stream called the Salzabach; immediately after the retreat of the Hanoverians it was occupied by the Prussians, and from it they kept up a heavy fire.

Two battalions of the guards marched past the dragoons. At the head of the first rode Lieutenant-Colonel von Landesberg; the second was led by Colonel von Alten.

The battalions had crossed the Unstrut, and were following the order received to retire to the brigade stationed on the hill.

Colonel von Landesberg rode thoughtfully in front of his battalion, the grenadiers followed him in solemn silence.

The battalion had the Unstrut on the left, and had just reached a spot where it was forced to turn to the right, to take up the prescribed position.

At this place the banks of the river are very low, and it is so shallow that it is easy to cross it.

A level terrace surrounds the hill, upon the slope of which lies the village of Merxleben. The enemy's most advanced chain of skirmishers was approaching the opposite bank of the river.

Colonel von Landesberg gave a searching look at the situation.

"If this spot remains undefended," he said to his adjutant, "the enemy will penetrate our position, and divide our forces."

"So it seems to me, colonel," replied the adjutant. "I cannot see why it is to be abandoned,--however, the general staff--"

The colonel gnawed his moustache.

"It is impossible to give up this position to the enemy," he said, half to himself.

His eyes flashed, and he pulled in his horse suddenly.

"Battalion, halt!" he shouted.

The command was repeated along the ranks; the battalion halted. With excited faces the grenadiers awaited further orders from their leader.

"Right about turn!" he cried.

A thundering shout of joy broke as from one mouth along the ranks, and in an instant the grenadiers had fronted.

The enemy's sharpshooters appeared on the other side of the river.

"Skirmishers, forward!" cried Colonel von Landesberg.

The lines opened out with exemplary precision, and in a short time the Hanoverian skirmishers were close to the river, received by the fire of the enemy.

Several grenadiers fell; but the firing from the Hanoverian lines was so certain and regular, that the most advanced of the enemy's sharpshooters soon sought cover, and replied but feebly.

The second battalion of guards had come up in the meantime. Colonel von Alten galloped up to Colonel von Landesberg, who had ridden down to the river, and was in the midst of his men.

"What is going on here?" asked Alten; "is the plan for the day changed?"

"You see this spot," said Colonel von Landesberg,--"it must not be taken, and I mean to hold it."

"Have you received an order?" asked Colonel von Alten.

"I do not want an order, for I see that the fate of the day and of the army depends on its being kept," cried Landesberg. "Fire!"

The report of fire-arms rolled along the line.

Colonel von Alten gave a scrutinizing look around, then he rode back to his battalion, which was about a hundred paces off.

"Right about turn!" he cried.

The battalion replied, like the first, with an echoing "Hurrah!" A few moments afterwards his sharpshooters were drawn up along the bank of the Unstrut, and the advancing enemy found itself opposed by a steady fire.

Although the grenadiers fell, the lines filled up silently and regularly, and not an inch of ground was yielded. Colonel von Landesberg placed himself in the front ranks, cool and calm as if on parade.

The battalions of the enemy which had advanced to the river halted. An uneasy movement appeared amongst them. An aide-de-camp galloped up.

"Colonel," he cried, "the general expects you in the prescribed position!"

"Tell him I am engaged by the enemy!" replied von Landesberg curtly.

The aide-de-camp glanced at what was going on, saluted, turned his horse, and galloped back without a word.

The enemy's fire grew weaker. After a short time, bugle calls were heard on the opposite bank, and the enemy was withdrawn out of reach of fire. Colonel von Landesberg put up his sword. "So," said he, "the first thing is done; do you think the river is fordable?"

"Certainly!" replied the adjutant, riding down close to it; "I can see the bottom almost everywhere."

"We can swim if needful," said Landesberg, calmly. "They shall rest ten minutes, then I will go first."

Colonel de Vaux's brigade stood at some little distance, close to the village of Merxleben; the Cambridge dragoons were halted near the banks of the Unstrut. The officers looked anxiously at the movements of the troops, who were retiring on the two wings, the centre keeping up an energetic artillery fire.

"We have crossed the Unstrut," exclaimed von Wendenstein; "it is really scandalous--where will this retreat end? We shall go back and back, until we march into the jaws of the enemy coming down upon us from the north, and then--"

"Then at last we shall capitulate," said von Stolzenberg, bitterly; "this kind of war can have no other end."

Lieutenant-Colonel Kielmansegge trotted quickly up to the troop in which the young officers rode.

"Look there, gentlemen," he cried, and pointed to the river bank at some distance along the plain. "What is that?--active firing is going on there."

"They are exchanging shots as they retreat--the Knesebeck Brigade it must be," said von Wendenstein.

"We shall soon have the enemy on our flank," said Stolzenberg; and both the officers took their glasses and looked in the direction in which Count Kielmansegge was still gazing attentively.

"It is the guards," said von Stolzenberg, "and actually they are not retreating, they have made a stand on the bank!"

"The enemy's sharpshooters are retreating!" exclaimed Wendenstein joyfully.

"They halt," said Count Kielmansegge, still looking through his glass,--"our battalions form,--they are going down to the river--into it--hurrah!" he cried, "they are advancing to the attack."

"And we are standing still here," cried von Wendenstein, whilst he drew his sword half out of the scabbard, and put it back with a clang.

At this moment Colonel de Vaux galloped up with the brigade staff.

"The guards are crossing the Unstrut," cried Count Kielmansegge, as they came up.

"So I see!" exclaimed Colonel de Vaux, "and devil take me if I stand still here; now the die must be cast. It is bad enough that we shall have to retake all the positions we have so quietly abandoned to the enemy! What regiments are close here?" he enquired of his adjutant.

"The first battalion of the second regiment, and the first Jäger battalion," he replied.

"Bring them here at once."

The adjutant galloped to the columns close by, and led them at quick march up to the colonel.

He dismounted and placed himself at their head.

"And what shall I do?" asked Count Kielmansegge.

"Ride down by the river," replied de Vaux, "cross where you can, and act according to circumstances; if possible fall on the right flank of the enemy, and silence that hostile battery."

"At your command, colonel!" cried Kielmansegge. In a few moments the regiments formed and rode at a sharp trot along the river.

From the place where the two battalions of guards had crossed the stream, a heavy fire had commenced. The first battalion under the gallant Landesberg advanced slowly in a straight line upon Langensalza, the second battalion turned to the left towards the mill which formed the central point of the enemy's position, and which was in a diagonal line from Colonel de Vaux.

"Now is the time!" he cried, and commanding his adjutant to give the order to advance, he at the same time ordered the assault to be sounded.

Before him lay an even plain without any cover for about five hundred yards, part of it being thickly planted with rape. The whole of this plain was exposed to the fire of the enemy's lines, and of the artillery from the hill behind.

The drums beat, the colonel raised his sword, and in as perfect order as on the parade ground the battalions marched across the dangerous plain.

The enemy's fire tore great gaps in the ranks, for the soldiers could not advance quickly on account of the rape, but they were quietly filled up; and in a short time the battalion gained the bank of the river, and in its turn opened a murderous fire upon the enemy, who withdrew his skirmishers, and concentrated his whole force around the mill.

The whole army saw the guards cross the Unstrut and the bold advance of Colonel de Vaux, and a general offensive movement commenced.

No officer would wait for orders. With a loud "Hurrah!" the troops broke from their positions, and advanced to the points where they might most quickly meet the enemy, and where they thought they could take the most active part in the fighting.

The infantry crossed the Unstrut at all points, sometimes even by swimming, and pressed on towards the enemy's positions. The batteries which had already retired, advanced and supported the attack by an incessant fire, and the cavalry crossed the river wherever it was possible, and advanced to the scene of combat.

The enemy were concentrated in force around the mill already mentioned, which formed the key of the central position of the Prussian army. It was surrounded by a deep moat.

Against this mill the guards advanced; two bridges over the river were before them, closed by barricades and strongly defended.

A company advanced without halting from the hill, led by their captain; they took the bridge by storm, and from this side also pressed on towards the mill; single lieutenants led small detachments everywhere, wading or swimming across the river, and advanced on every side to storm the enemy's strong position.

By this time desperate fighting was going on before the mill. Companies of different regiments, sometimes in small detachments, united to storm the buildings.

Three times Lieutenants Köring, Leue, and Schneider with exemplary courage led a storming party, Lieutenant Leue falling riddled with bullets, at the head of his detachment. Their numbers were too small, the moat around the mill was too deep, the fire too overwhelming.

Just then Colonel Dammers appeared to inspect the state of the battle and to report the news to the king. Prince Herman Solms rode beside him, for the young prince, devoured with impatience, had obtained permission to accompany the colonel.

The sadly diminished ranks were just closing, again to attempt the storming of the mill.

A Prussian battery had been brought forward and the shells suddenly fell amongst the storming party, whilst a fresh and tremendous fire from the needle-guns opened upon them from the mill.

They hesitated under this murderous hail of balls.

The prince touched his horse with the spur, and bounded between the storming party and the mill.

"They are not so bad as they look!" he cried cheerfully, turning to the soldiers; and reining in his horse, he took off his cap and jokingly saluted a shell which flew over his head and buried itself in the ground.

"Hurrah!" cried the soldiers, and again rushed to the attack, led on by their brave lieutenants.

At this moment two companies advanced from the bridges, and immediately behind them Colonel Flökher's battalion, and at the same time guns opened behind the storming party from the hill of Merxleben, and a heavy fire from a hastily advanced Hanoverian battery fell on the mill, splintering the roof and shattering the walls.

The gallant defenders of the building evidently about to become a heap of ruins, broke through on the other side, and retreated in strong parties along the high road. But they were checked by the second battalion of guards, which had now come up, and which opened a murderous fire upon their flank, whilst two squadrons of hussars who had burst over the bridges galloped down upon them with upraised swords.

Some of the fugitives fled over the fields, and were fortunate enough to gain the reserve Prussian division; the hindmost returned to the ruined building, and a white handkerchief soon waved from one of the windows.

The firing ceased immediately. Colonel Flökher rode up to the battered door, which was quickly opened, and the last of the brave defenders, about a hundred men, laid down their arms.

The courtyard was full of dead and wounded, and just outside lay the Hanoverian soldiers who had fallen. The ruin looked ghastly with its shattered windows and broken walls in the bright sunshine, a picture of destruction, horror, and death.

The adjutant-general rode up to Prince Herman.

"I compliment you, prince," he said: "you received your baptism of fire gloriously, but you exposed yourself uselessly. What should I have said to the king if any misfortune had befallen you?"

"What could I do?" said the prince, laughing, and plucking at the down on his upper lip; "the king has ordered me to head-quarters: ought I to let them say I am afraid of fire?"

"They would not have said that," said the colonel, looking kindly at the almost boyish face.

"It is better that they cannot say it!" cried the prince, and galloped off with the adjutant-general.

A retreat on the part of the enemy was decided upon from this moment. Slowly and in perfect order, under a continuous fire, the Prussian troops formed in squares, and retired in the direction of Gotha covered by their batteries, which kept up a constant fire upon the advancing Hanoverians.

At last General Arentschildt had ordered a general attack, but this command only affected a few of the troops, and was indeed superfluous, for the attack had commenced, and no order would have prevented it.

Whilst the centre of the Prussian position was pierced, Count Kielmansegge with his dragoons had ridden along the side of the Unstrut, endeavouring to find a ford. But he could not discover one, the banks of the river in this part being very steep and overgrown with bushes. They were obliged to ride down stream to the village of Nagelstedt, where at last they found a bridge, over which they crossed into an open field on the other side.

The dragoons hurried at a sharp trot closer and closer to the sound of the guns; already the enemy was driven back, and the battle had surged to the south of Langensalza.

A gentle eminence rose before the dragoons, the regiment rode up it, and found itself opposite the enemy's exposed flank. Two Prussian squares were slowly retreating, still keeping up a constant fire, and on a hill near the dragoons was a Prussian battery, which sent its shell into the centre of the advancing Hanoverians. The dragoons were alone; between them and the Hanoverian army were the Prussian battalions.

"The time has come at last!" said Wendenstein, who was with the troop of which Stolzenberg was first lieutenant. "Thank God! we have something to do. At such a moment it is better to be in love," he added, as he tried whether his sword was firm in his hand; "you see I know what to think of, and--"

"There, again it spoke," said Stolzenberg, shuddering slightly; "farewell, old fellow, if we do not meet again."

"Madness!" cried von Wendenstein, "but look out, we are to charge."

The command was given that the fourth squadron should take the enemy's battery, and that the second and third should attack the Prussian squares.

The two squadrons slowly advanced towards the distant squares, who stood still to receive them, whilst Rittmeister von Einem at the head of his dragoons galloped up the hill on which stood the battery.

The guns were turned upon the attacking dragoons, a storm of shell received the squadron. The horsemen fell in numbers, down went both the trumpeters, but unchecked, the squadron galloped onwards, the Rittmeister far before them waving high his sword.

Quicker and quicker grew the pace, the battery was almost reached, when once again the guns opened fire, and sent their case-shot into the very midst of the gallant riders.

The Rittmeister escaped as by a miracle. He was the first to spring between the hostile cannon, and he smote down a gunner with a mighty cut from his sword; the dragoons followed him through the heavy fire of the infantry support to the battery.

A bullet hit the Rittmeister's horse, which fell, rolling over upon him. He quickly disengaged himself from the quivering animal, and his sword flow round swift as lightning to defend himself from the threatening bayonets of the infantry. The dragoons were now engaged in a fierce hand-to-hand fight.

"Forwards! forwards!" cried the Rittmeister, as with his sword he parried a bayonet thrust against his breast; but a shot fired close to him struck him, his arm sank down, and whilst with his left hand he seized the wheel of the cannon he had taken, to support himself, several of the enemy's bayonets were plunged deep into his breast.

His strength failed, and he fell upon a heap of slain; his hand clenched in death, held fast the wheel of the conquered gun. The dragoons pressed forwards over him, and soon the last defenders of the battery fled over the field.

The battery was silenced, but the greater number of the dragoons lay around their fallen leader.

This attack had been watched with the greatest interest by the two squadrons as they advanced slowly towards the Prussian squares, and as the defenders of the battery fled, loud cheers burst forth.

When the two squadrons had come near enough to the squares to charge, suddenly from behind the hill on which the battery stood, galloped the garde du corps, followed by the cuirassier guards. The garde du corps dashed against the square next them. Two volleys, discharged when they were close to the enemy, did not check them, but the brave square stood unbroken, and the squadron of garde du corps retired from the enemy's fire, preparing to charge afresh.

The commander of the second square nearest to the dragoons came forward and waved a handkerchief. Major von Hammerstein, with his adjutant and a trumpeter, advanced to meet him.

"My soldiers are ready to sink from exhaustion," said the Prussian staff-officer; "I am willing to surrender."

"I must then beg for your sword, my comrade," replied Major von Hammerstein, "and that you will lay down your arms."

"I agree to the last," said the Prussian officer; "to give up my sword is too hard a condition. But," he cried, "here come the cuirassiers."

And indeed the cuirassiers, who had followed the garde du corps, and passing by the first square had formed to charge, were galloping down upon them.

"Ride to the cuirassiers and stop them!" cried Major von Hammerstein to his adjutant.

He galloped off to meet the charging regiment, but their rapid movement and the noise around prevented him from making himself heard. They rushed onwards.

"Too late!" cried the Prussian commander. "Stand to your arms! Fire!" he cried, as he returned to the square, and a tremendous volley mowed down the cuirassiers just as they approached. The foremost ranks fell, and the direction of the charge being somewhat oblique, the shock came on the flank of the square, and it remained unbroken.

Major von Hammerstein had ridden back, and "Charge! charge!" resounded down the ranks of the dragoons.

The two squadrons charged the square at a gallop.

They were received by a frightful fire. The major fell, just in front of the foe, but Lieutenant von Stolzenberg urged on his horse, reined him in for a moment when close to the lowered bayonets of the enemy, drove the spurs into his horse's flanks, so that he reared upright, and then, with one mighty leap, bore his young master, as he raised his sword and gave a ringing cheer, right into the hostile square, where, like his rider, he fell, pierced through with bayonets.

But his fall tore a large opening in the ranks, and the squadron pressed in after them.

"Well done, old fellow!" cried Wendenstein, and at the same moment he fell beside his comrade, and the dragoons rushed over him.

The square was broken, and those who yet survived fled madly across the field.

But when the dragoon squadrons reassembled, not one officer was left, and one-third of the men were wanting.

The cuirassiers had rallied meanwhile, and hastened to the scene of this brilliant struggle.

A young soldier rode with the first squadron in an old coat that had evidently not been made for him, and in plain grey trousers stuffed into military boots. On his head he wore a military cap, and a wound on his brow was bound up with a white handkerchief.

"Where is Lieutenant von Wendenstein?" he asked of a dragoon, as the remains of the second squadron rode up.

"All our officers lie there!" replied the dragoon, pointing to a heap of men and horses which marked the spot where the square had stood.

"Dead!" cried the cuirassier. "But I cannot leave him there; I promised to take care of him, and no one shall ever say Fritz Deyke broke his word. My poor lieutenant!"

He hastily quitted the ranks and rode up to the commanding officer.

"Sir," he said, saluting him, "I overtook the army at Langensalza and joined the cuirassiers, that I might take my share in the war. I hope, sir, you can say I have done my duty?"

"You have done bravely," replied the officer.

"Well, sir," continued the young man, "the day's work seems over, and, besides, I have a scratch from which the blood runs into my eyes, so I came to ask leave for the day."

The officer looked at him with amazement. A deep blush spread over the young soldier's face.

"Sir," he cried, "I was brought up at Blechow with our president's son, Lieutenant von Wendenstein, of the Cambridge dragoons; and when I left home to join the army, his mother said to me, 'Fritz, take care of my son if you can,' and I promised her I would, sir; and now there lies the young gentleman amongst the dead. Shall I leave him there?"

The officer looked kindly at him.

"Go, my brave lad," he said, "and come back when the lieutenant no longer needs you."

"Thank you, sir," cried Fritz.

The cuirassiers advanced in pursuit of the enemy.

Meanwhile the other square had been broken by the charge of the garde du corps. The cavalry had moved forward, and in a short time the scene of all this carnage, of all this noise, was only an empty plain, where piles of corpses lay one on another in lakes of blood--men and horses, friend and foe, mingled together.

Fritz Deyke was alone in this scene of horror.

He dismounted, led his horse by the bridle, and walked to the place where the dragoons had broken the square. His horse snorted and struggled to run back. He led it a little way off and tied it to the trunk of a tree which grew near the high road; then he again approached the heaps of slain.

Some wounded men raised their heads and begged gaspingly for a drop of water.

"I cannot help all, but you shall not perish," he said.

There was a deep ditch near the high road; it might have water in it. He seized two helmets lying on the ground, and hurried to the ditch. There was actually some water--a little, and dirty, for the continuous heat had sucked up the moisture.

With some difficulty he filled the helmets with the muddy, lukewarm fluid, and carrying them like two buckets, he returned to the wounded men, who were watching for him with unspeakable longing. He drew out his flask, poured some of its contents into each helmet, and gave some of the liquid to the sufferers, impartially succouring both Prussians and Hanoverians.

"So, be patient," he said, kindly; "the first ambulance I see, I will send to you." And he began to search amongst the dead.

They lay heaped on one another, the brave dragoons and the brave Prussian infantry, some with a calm, peaceful expression on their faces, some with a look of wild horror, many so frightfully disfigured with bullets and stabs that the soldier's brave heart quailed, and he had to close his eyes for a moment to gain strength to continue his dreadful employment.

But he went on undeterred. He laid the dead bodies aside, and exerting all his strength, he dragged at the dead horses.

"Here is Herr von Stolzenberg!" he cried, as he turned over the body of the young officer, which lay with its face on the ground, bathed in blood. "Handsome, brave gentleman! and to die so young! It is all over with him," he said, mournfully. A bullet had carried away part of the skull, and countless stabs still oozed with blood.

Fritz Deyke bowed his head over the corpse, folded his hands, and repeated "Our Father."

"But here," he then cried, "lies poor Roland, stone dead. Good, faithful creature; and under him, alas! there is my lieutenant!" He pushed the dead horse aside.

Beneath lay Lieutenant von Wendenstein, pale and stark, his left hand pressed on his breast, his sword still in his right hand, his eyes wide open, and staring glassily at the sky.

"Dead!" said poor Fritz, with a cry of grief; "he is really dead!" and he bent sorrowfully over the body of the fallen officer.

"But I must take him away!" he cried, with decision. "He must not stay here; at least I must be able to lead his poor old father and mother to his grave. How frightful to see his kind, beautiful eyes staring thus!" he said, shuddering; "but where is he wounded? The head is unhurt. Ah! here in the breast. His hand is pressed upon it; the blood still trickles. But I cannot look at his eyes!" he cried; "those dead, glassy eyes, which in life were so kind and merry!"

He bent down and laid his hand on the head of the slain, that he might gently close the eyes of his former playmate.

"God in heaven!" he cried, suddenly. "He lives, his eyelids moved!"

He folded his hands and gazed anxiously at the face before him.

The eyes really moved, they closed slowly, then they opened again; for one moment a ray of light seemed to light them up, then they grew staring and glassy as before.

Fritz Deyke sank upon his knees.

"Great God in heaven!" he said in a trembling voice; "if Thou wilt never in my whole life hear a prayer from me again, yet help me now to save my poor master!"

He seized his flask, opened the mouth of the wounded man, and poured into it a little brandy.

Then he anxiously awaited the result.

An almost imperceptible shiver passed through the young officer's limbs; his eyes lived for a moment, and looked inquiringly at the young peasant; his lips were slightly parted; a red foam appeared upon them, and a deep sigh heaved his breast.

Then the eyelids closed, and the face lost the horrible starkness of death. But no further sign of life appeared.

"Now to get him to the town!" cried Fritz, raising the young officer in his strong arms and bearing him to his horse.

He climbed with difficulty into the saddle, still holding the motionless form; then he supported it before him with his right hand, whilst he held the bridle with the other.

He rode quickly across the fields to the town.

The squares broken by the dragoons, garde du corps, and cuirassiers, and the battery taken by Rittmeister von Einem made the last resistance on the side of the Prussians before they retreated entirely.

The Hanoverian central brigade pressed onwards, and soon the whole battle-field almost to Gotha was in possession of the Hanoverian troops.

The army, unfit to march, had made the most surprising, though alas! aimless advances--the army unfit to fight, had fought--and won!

During the whole day the king and his suite had remained on the hill near Merxleben. He had not left the saddle for a moment. He had asked short questions about the fighting, which the gentlemen of his suite had answered; no information had come from the general in command, for the battle was fought by individual officers and their divisions, who would no longer retreat, and who had seized on the offensive, each where he thought he could act most decisively and effectively.

The king saw nothing; he heard the bullets hiss past him, the thunder of the cannon around him; but the varied living picture was wanting that enchains the mind with trembling excitement.

He was as motionless as a bronze statue; his face betrayed no trace of his inward emotion; his only inquiry was, could his soldiers see him?

At last the adjutant-general galloped up the hill, and brought the news that the enemy's centre was pierced, and the cuirassier guards who had been held in reserve behind the king's position, rushed past with a loud "Hurrah!" to their royal leader, as they started across the plain in pursuit of the enemy. Finally, a staff officer arrived from the commanding general, announcing that the victory was decided in favour of the Hanoverian arms. Then the king drew a deep breath and said, "I will dismount."

A groom hastened to him; the king got off his horse. All the gentlemen around drew near him to express their congratulations.

"Many brave and faithful hearts have ceased to beat! God grant them eternal peace!" said the king, solemnly.

He stood for a moment in silent thought.

"I am somewhat exhausted," he then said; "is there anything to drink?"

Those nearest to him seized their flasks; they were empty.

"There is some sherry in our carriage," said Meding.

"And I have a travelling cup," cried Count Platen, taking a silver cup from a case.

Meding ran to the carriage, and soon returned with half a bottle of sherry and a little wheaten bread. He poured some wine into the small cup, and handed it to the king. He drank it, and ate a morsel of bread.

"Now I am strong again," he cried; "would to God that each one of my soldiers could say the same."

"I will move about a little," he then said, and taking Meding's arm he paced slowly to and fro, on the top of the hill.

"God has given our arms the victory," he said with emotion; "what is next to be done?"

"Your majesty," said Meding, "this noble blood will all have been shed in vain, if we do not march at once to Gotha, cross the railway, and endeavour to reach Bavaria."

The king sighed.

"Oh! that I could place myself at the head of my army and lead it onwards! They will make difficulties, raise obstacles. You know how many obstacles the general staff has already raised in the council of war."

He stood still, thinking deeply.

"Your majesty must command a protocol to be drawn up, that these obstacles may at least be stated in black and white," said Meding.

"It shall be done!" cried the king with energy. "You shall draw it up. I am answerable to history for what occurs, and for what is neglected."

An aide-de-camp from the general in command galloped up.

"General von Arentschildt begs your majesty at once to take up your head-quarters in Langensalza."

"To horse!" cried the king.

The aide-de-camp hurried away, the horses were brought, and the royal party moved down from the hill across the battle-field.

The king was grave and calm as he rode towards the town. Heaps of dead bodies lay on the road near the mill, and the horses' hoofs were reddened by the blood which stood on the ground in great pools. The king saw it not. He heard the "hurrahs" of the soldiers he met, and the loud cheers with which they greeted him; no pride of victory kindled in his noble face; he sat on his horse cold and silent; he thought of the slain, who had bought him this victory with their lives, he thought of the future, and with anxious care he asked himself whether this victory would yield the fruit desired, and extricate the army from the dangerous position into which it had been led.

The royal head-quarters were established in the Schützhaus at Langensalza.

Scarcely was the king a little refreshed, when he ordered the general in command, and the chief of the general staff to be summoned, and he invited General von Brandis, Count Platen, Count Ingelheim, with Lex and Meding, to be present at the council of war.

At about nine in the evening the officers assembled in the king's room.

The king urged an immediate march upon Gotha, but the general in command and the chief of the staff declared that the army was in such a state of exhaustion it could not march. In vain General Brandis pointed out that even for a tired army a short march of two hours and then excellent quarters in Gotha, was better than a bivouac in the fields without proper food; the chief of the general staff declared the march to be absolutely impossible, and the general in command refused to be responsible for its consequences. Both these gentlemen asked earnestly for permission to leave the council, as their presence with the troops was absolutely necessary.

The council of war broke up without any result, and the king retired to rest after the fatigues of the day.

The bivouac fires of the troops shone all around the town; and such merry songs, such cheerful voices rose on every side, it was hard to believe these were the exhausted soldiers who could not possibly undertake a two hours' march to Gotha, there to find rest and food.

Fritz Deyke meanwhile had ridden to the town, carrying Lieutenant von Wendenstein before him, without knowing whether he was alive or dead. The young man lay heavily in his arms, his limbs hung helplessly down, and the wound in his breast bled afresh from the quick ride.

The young peasant reached the town, but there had been fighting in the streets, and it seemed deserted by its inhabitants, who had shut themselves into the back rooms of their houses.

"Where shall I find the best quarters?" he asked himself. "Perhaps they will take the greatest care of him in the hotel," he thought, after a moment's consideration, and he rode on in search of an inn. At a turn in the street he saw a large white house standing a little back, with a well-kept garden in front of it, and with various outbuildings beside it. Green jalousie blinds were closed over the windows.

As the cuirassier rode past with the lifeless body in his arms, a fresh young voice cried, half in fear, half in compassion:

"Ah! the poor young officer!"

Fritz was touched by the sound of the voice, as well as by this mark of sympathy for his dear lieutenant, and looked up at the house.

A young girl's pretty blonde head peeped from a half-opened shutter, but bashfully withdrew as the soldier looked up; the blind, however, was not entirely closed.

Either the expressive voice, or the sympathy in the bright blue eyes still looking down through the small opening upon the strange and melancholy spectacle, caused the young man to conclude, that in this comfortable and well-to-do looking house he should find good quarters for his beloved officer: it was enough, he reined in his horse, and cried out--

"Yes, the poor young officer needs rest and care, and I demand quarters for him in this house."

The words were short and commanding, for he belonged to the army who entered the town as victors; but the tone of voice was gentle and imploring, and it caused the young girl to open the shutter entirely, and to stretch out her head. At the same moment, a stout, elderly man, with a full red face and short grey hair, appeared, and looked down with displeasure at the Hanoverian soldier.

"Quarters can be had in this house, if so it must be," he said, curtly and uncivilly; "but as to care, we have nothing to do with that, and there is nothing much to eat!"

"I will see to that!" cried Fritz Deyke, "only come down and help me to carry in my lieutenant!"

The old man withdrew from the window grumbling, whilst the young girl called out kindly, "I will get a bed ready at once for the poor wounded man, then we shall see what must be done next."

And she disappeared from the window.

The old man had opened the house door, and advanced towards the horseman.

"I cannot bid you welcome to my house," he said, gloomily and harshly, "for you belong to the enemies of my king and country, but I am bound to give you quarters; and," he continued, looking compassionately at the pale young officer, "I would rather give quarters to the wounded than to the sound."

"It is no question of friend or foe!" replied Fritz, in a conciliatory voice; "it is a question of Christian charity to a poor wounded man!"

"Come then!" said the old man, simply, and walked up to the horse.

Fritz Deyke let the lifeless form slide gently into the old man's arms; then dismounting, he tied his horse to the low garden railings, and together they bore the lifeless form to the house.

"Up here," said the old man, pointing to the stairs which led from the hall to the comfortable rooms above.

Fritz Deyke went up first, carefully supporting the lieutenant's head, whilst the old man followed, bearing him.

They entered a long passage with doors on each side.

The young girl stood waiting for them, and hastened forwards to open the door of a large room, with two windows looking towards the courtyard; it was furnished plainly but with some elegance, and a snow-white bed was prepared for the sufferer.

Fritz Deyke, with the help of the old man, laid the wounded officer gently down upon it.

"Now, young man!" said his host, looking gravely at the cuirassier, "your officer is safe, and he shall want for nothing that my house can afford,--the house of the Brewer Lohmeier," he added, with a look of dignified satisfaction, "that you may know whose guest you are. Come now, we will take your horse into the stable; and," he continued somewhat confidentially, "whilst you are here, keep others away if you can."

They went down stairs, leaving the young girl in the room with the wounded man. She smoothed the pillows, and looked with melancholy interest at the handsome face, pale as death.

Some infantry came down the street.

"We will find quarters in this street," cried one of them; "see, here is a nice-looking house,--let us go in,--there will be room for us all!"

Fritz Deyke came to the door at this moment with the brewer.

"Ah! there are cuirassiers here already," cried the infantry man; "is there still room, comrade?"

Fritz put his finger to his lips.

"A dangerously-wounded officer here," he said; "you must not talk so loud, nor make such a noise in marching."

"Then we must go further," said the infantry soldiers; they cast sympathizing looks at the upper windows, and walked on.

"Thank you!" said the old brewer, in a friendly voice.

Fritz Deyke led his horse through the yard gate to the stable, where he put him with the brewer's four horses. He then asked for a piece of chalk, and wrote in large letters upon the house door: "Dangerously wounded officers."

"Now," he cried, "I must go and find a surgeon; take care of my lieutenant, but do not move him!" He was about to hurry away.

"Stop," said the brewer, "your surgeons will all be busy at the field hospitals; our surgeon lives close here, he is a clever man, I will fetch him."

He went out, and soon returned with a fresh-faced, grey-headed old gentleman, with a very kind expression.

He stepped up to the bed, whilst Fritz studied his looks with the greatest anxiety.

The surgeon shook his head, he opened one of the closed eye-lids, looked at the eye of the wounded man, and said,

"Life is not extinct, whether we can retain it is in God's hand! I must look at the wounds, we must undress him, and you, dear Margaret, get us some warm water and some wine."

The young girl hastened away. Fritz carefully cut off the wounded man's clothes and boots.

There was a wound in the left breast, another in the shoulder.

"This is nothing," said the surgeon, pointing to the shoulder, "a bayonet wound, which will get well of itself; but here--" drawing a probe from a case, he examined the wound in the breast.

"The bullet has lodged upon the rib," he said; "if he does not die from loss of blood and exhaustion he may recover. For the present he must have perfect rest; I cannot attempt to extract the bullet until he has in some measure recovered his strength."

Margaret returned with warm water, linen, and a sponge. She then placed a small lamp upon the table, for it began to grow dark.

The surgeon washed the wound, and poured some wine into his patient's mouth. A deep breath parted his lips, a faint tinge of colour came to his cheeks, and he opened his eyes. He looked with surprise at everything around him; his eyes closed again, and scarcely audibly he murmured "Auf Wiedersehn!"

The young girl folded her hands, and raised her eyes, shining through tears to heaven.

Fritz took off his cap, waved it in the air and opened his mouth wide, as if to shout the Hurrah! with which the lusty young peasants made the meadows near Blechow or the large room in the inn echo again, but this Hurrah! did not come; the mouth closed again, the cap flew into a corner, only a thankful, happy expression replaced the melancholy look his face had hitherto worn. He had heard a sound of life from the lips of his dear lieutenant, he now hoped to save him.

"Well, well," said the surgeon cheerfully, "for the present you can only keep him quiet, and give him some red wine as often as possible, to repair the loss of blood; to-morrow I will try to extract the bullet."

He departed, accompanied by old Lohmeier.

Fritz, Deyke, and Margaret remained with the patient, and watched his breathing; with the greatest punctuality the young girl handed a spoonful of wine to the cuirassier, who poured it carefully into the officer's mouth.

Old Lohmeier brought Fritz some cold supper and a draught of his own beer. The young man hastily despatched the supper, his appetite was as good as ever, the beer he declined.

"I could not keep awake," he said.

"Now go to bed, Margaret," said her father, "we will tend the wounded man; sitting up at night will tire you."

"What is the loss of one night's sleep, father," said Margaret, "when a man's life is in danger? Let me stay, he might want something."

Her father did not gainsay her, and his look of satisfaction acknowledged she was right. Fritz Deyke said nothing, but he raised his large true-hearted blue eyes with an expression of gratitude to the young girl's face.

Lohmeier seated himself in an armchair and soon nodded; the young people remained near the bed, and scrupulously carried out the surgeon's orders, watching with pleasure every fresh sign of life in their patient, sometimes a deep breath, sometimes a slight flush passing over his pale face.

For a long time they sat in silence.

"You are a good girl," Fritz said at last, when she had just handed him a spoonful of wine, and he held out his hand to her in hearty friendship; "how thankful my lieutenant's mother will be to you, for what you have done for her son."

"Ah! his poor mother!" she said with emotion, responding to the warm pressure of his hand, whilst a tear shone in her clear eyes; "is she a great lady?"

Fritz Deyke imparted to her in low whispers all about the lieutenant's family, and the old house in Blechow, and he told her of beautiful Wendland, with its rich pastures and dark fir woods, and then of his own home, of his father, and the farm and acres; and the young girl listened silently and attentively to the soldier's words. The pictures they presented were so natural, so clear and so bright, and they were all gilded by the poetic shimmer surrounding the brave cuirassier, who had saved his playmate in the bloody battle-field, and who now watched so anxiously over the life still so precarious.

The night passed quietly in old Lohmeier's house. Loud, merry voices rang without, from the soldiers quartered in the town, and from the bivouacs, and when the old brewer sometimes woke he glanced benevolently at the young soldier and the wounded officer, whose presence prevented his house from being otherwise occupied, for all the troops had respected the words Fritz had written on the door. No one had knocked, but all had passed it in silence.

The morning of the 28th June dawned brilliantly, as if to greet the victorious soldiers in their cantonments. Already all was movement at head-quarters. The king in a proclamation to the army had expressed in a few affectionate words his thanks for their exertions and courage.

Then the burial of the dead took place. They were interred, so far as they could be found on the battle-field, in the churchyard of Langensalza.

The king with his suite stood near the open graves, whilst the clergyman of the little town, in a few simple words, commended to eternal rest the warriors united in death, Prussians and Hanoverians; and the king, who could not see the brave men who lay at his feet, true soldiers of duty and of their rightful lord, stooped down in silence, seized a handful of earth, and with his own royal hand strewed the first dust upon the loyal dead.

"May the earth lay lightly on you!" whispered the king, and in a still lower voice he added, "Happy are they who rest in peace!"

Then he folded his hands, repeated the Lord's Prayer, and taking the arm of the crown prince, returned to the Schützhaus.

On his way back, groups of soldiers who stood about greeted him with loud "Hurrahs!" and cries of "Forwards! forwards!"

The king bent down his head, a sorrowful expression appeared in his face.

As soon as he reached his room, he sent for the general in command. He was with the troops, and an hour passed before he entered the king's apartment.

"Are the troops ready to march?" asked the king.

"No, your majesty! The army is done for, quite done for!" cried the general, striking his hand on his breast. "There are no provisions forthcoming, and the ammunition is scarcely sufficient for the first round."

"Then in your opinion, what is to be done?" asked the king, calmly and coldly.

"Your majesty!" cried Arentschildt, "the general staff is unanimous in declaring a capitulation to be unavoidable."

"Wherefore?" asked the king.

"The general staff is of opinion that the army cannot march," cried the general; "besides, overwhelming forces are drawing up on every side; from the north the outposts have sent in word that General Manteuffel is surrounding us; in the south General Vogel von Falckenstein has collected troops from Eisenach, and has cut off the road to Gotha."

"That would have been impossible had we marched on yesterday evening," said the king.

"An advance was impossible, as the general staff declared!" cried General von Arentschildt.

The king was silent.

"Your majesty!" cried the general, striking his breast; "it is hard for me to say the word--capitulate! but there is nothing else to be done. I beg your majesty's permission to commence arrangements with General von Falckenstein."

"I will send you my orders in an hour," said the king; "leave your adjutant here."

And he turned away.

The general left the room.

"It must be so!" cried the king sorrowfully. "The blood of all these brave men has flowed in vain. In vain has been all the pain, the anguish, and the toil--and why in vain? Because my eyes are dark; because I cannot lead my valiant troops as my forefathers have done, as the brave Brunswick--oh! it is hard, very hard!"

The king's face had a dark expression, he clenched his teeth, and raised his sightless eyes to heaven.

Then the anger vanished from his countenance, peace took its place, a sorrowful but gentle smile came to his lips. He folded his hands, and said in a low tone:

"My God and Saviour bore for me the crown of thorns; for me He shed His blood upon the cross. O Lord, not my will but Thine be done!"

He touched the golden bell which had been brought from his cabinet at Herrenhausen.

The groom of the chambers entered.

"I beg Count Platen, General Brandis, Count Ingelheim, with Herr Lex and Herr Meding, to come to me at once."

In a short time these gentlemen entered the room.

"You know the position in which we are placed, gentlemen," said the king; "we are surrounded by the enemy in superior numbers, and the general in command declares that the troops cannot march from exhaustion, that they are without either provisions or ammunition. He considers a capitulation unavoidable. Before I decide, I wish to hear your views. What do you think, Count Ingelheim?"

Gravely and with painful emotion, the Austrian ambassador replied: "It is most melancholy, your majesty, after such a day as yesterday to speak of capitulation; but if we are really surrounded by superior forces, brought up since yesterday evening," this he said with emphasis, "it would be a useless sacrifice of many brave soldiers to resist, and no one could thus advise your majesty."

"If we could only send to Berlin," said Count Platen, "it might yet----"

"Your majesty," interrupted General Brandis, in a trembling voice, "if it were possible that like the Duke of Brunswick you could draw your sword, and ride yourself at the head of your army, I would still cry 'Forwards!' I believe we should cut our way through; but as it is----" he stamped with his foot, and turned away to hide the tears that blinded his eyes.

The state-councillor Meding came close to the king.

"Your majesty," he said, in a husky voice, "the unavoidable must be endured; the sun shines even on the darkest day! Your majesty must not uselessly sacrifice the lives of your subjects, but," he continued, "you are answerable to history, and it must be clearly stated that a further march is impossible. If I may presume to advise your majesty, cause the general in command, and each commander of a brigade, upon his military honour and the oath given to his sovereign, to declare before God and his conscience that the troops can neither march nor fight, and that they have neither food nor ammunition. Thus will your majesty be freed from all reproach from your army, your country, and history."

The king bent his head in approval.

"So shall it be," he said. "Draw up such a document with the assistance of Lex, and send it to General Arentschildt."

"And permit me, your majesty," cried Count Ingelheim, "at this solemn moment to express my conviction that notwithstanding the heavy trial it has pleased God to lay upon you, you will return in triumph to your capital, as surely as Austria and my emperor will, to the last man, maintain the rights of Germany."

The king held out his hand to him.

"You too have borne the fatigues of the campaign in vain," he said, with a melancholy smile.

"Not in vain, your majesty," cried Count Ingelheim. "I have seen a king and an army without fear and without reproach."

An hour later the king received the declaration he had demanded, signed by the general in command, the chief of the general staff, and all the brigadiers. A capitulation was concluded with General Vogel von Falckenstein, but soon afterwards General von Manteuffel arrived, and at the command of the King of Prussia granted other conditions, which were highly favourable to the Hanoverian army.

The officers retained their arms, their baggage, their horses, and all their privileges; and even the sub-officers retained their rank. The privates gave up their arms and horses to officers appointed by the King of Hanover, and they delivered them to Prussian commissioners; they were then dismissed to their homes.

But first General Manteuffel, at the express command of the King of Prussia, publicly acknowledged the brave conduct of the Hanoverian soldiers.

The King of Hanover sent Count Platen, General von Brandis, and Herr Meding before him to Linz, there to await him; he himself rested for a short time in the castle of the Duke of Altenburg, from whence he proceeded to Vienna to await further events.

The Hanoverian soldiers, who were smitten as by a thunderbolt from the seventh heaven by the capitulation, laid down their arms with bitter grief, and with dust on their heads returned to the homes they had left so confident of victory.

But they could return unhumiliated, for they had done what was possible. The brave and faithful army, on the last battle-field where the ancient banner of their country was unfurled, had raised a monument of honour and glory which the chivalrous commander of the Prussian troops was the first to adorn with the laurels of his praise.

But who, that knows the history of that day and its important results, can avoid asking the question, "Why was it not possible that two such noble, chivalrous, and pious princes, whose warriors stood opposed in deadly fight, should not have known and understood each other?"

CHAPTER XV.

[SUSPENSE].

The sultry heat of summer was extremely oppressive in the plain surrounding the quiet village of Blechow; the sky looked dark and heavy, not that it was covered with clouds, but it was grey from the heavy atmosphere, and although the sun was still high above the horizon, his rays were of a dark blood-red colour. Deep stillness prevailed. Almost all the young men had left the village; as soon as the news came that the troops were concentrated at Göttingen they had set out to join the army there, or to overtake it on its march. But the stillness was the most complete in the old castle, where the president, with gloomy wrinkles on his brow, paced up and down the great hall, and gazed from time to time across the garden at the broad plain beyond. He had obeyed the king's command, that all magistrates should remain at their posts; he had, through the Landrostei, received a decree from the ministry whereby the government of the country was delivered to the Prussian Civil Commissioner, Herr von Hardenburg, and he had given up all business to the Auditor von Bergfeld, saying, "Your knowledge is quite sufficient to enable you to understand and execute all the orders which may be issued by the government; do everything, and when you want my signature bring me the papers. I will remain at my post, and will sign them, since the king has so commanded; but do not consult me, for I will hear nothing of all this misery, and my old heart, which is sad enough already, shall not be pricked to death with pins. But if there is any oppression which I could by any possibility avert, then tell me the whole matter, and the Prussian Civil Commissioner shall hear old Wendenstein's voice as plainly as the Hanoverian board have ever heard it!" With that he left the office; he signed his name when needful, and he seldom opened his lips after the foreign occupation was completed.

Madame von Wendenstein went silently and quietly about the house,--she looked after the house keeping, and arranged everything as punctually as ever,--but sometimes the old lady would pause suddenly, her dreamy eyes fixed on the far-off distance, as if they sought to follow her thoughts beyond the wood-encircled horizon,--then she would hastily resume her occupation, and hurry restlessly through the well-known rooms, and the more she ordered and arranged the more she seemed to become mistress of her heavy trouble.

It was very quiet too in the Pfarrhaus. No one had left it, all went on as usual, but the general depression seemed to weigh down the humble roof, and even the roses in the garden hung their heads exhausted by the burning heat of the sun.

The pastor had gone out, as was his custom, to visit some of his people, for he did not consider the Sunday services his only duty, but thought that he who would really be a shepherd and bishop of souls must carry the word of God in friendly converse into the daily life of his flock and know its joys and sorrows.

Helena sat at the window, and mechanically plied her needle, but her eyes were often thoughtfully turned to the far distance, and her hands sank wearily into her lap.

Candidate Behrmann sat opposite to her; he was as neatly dressed and as smoothly brushed as ever, and his expressionless and composed countenance looked happier and more cheerful than usual.

His sharp observing eyes followed the looks the young girl fixed on the distant horizon, and that the languishing conversation might not entirely fail, he said,--

"It is strange what a sultry oppression hangs over all nature; we feel the actual weight of this thick heavy atmosphere."

"Our poor soldiers---what they must suffer from marching in this heat!" cried Helena, sighing.

"In those days I feel how doubly happy I am," said the candidate, "when I think of my peaceful and spiritual calling, and contrast it with the useless and really reprehensible employment of the soldiers, and all they must now undergo."

"Useless and reprehensible!" cried Helena, gazing at him with her great eyes; "do you call it useless to fight for your king and your country?"

"Not according to the views of the world," he said sanctimoniously; "all these people are doing their duty according to their lights; but the king himself is reprehensible, and the sacrifices they make for him are useless, for what will they gain? Oh! it is a nobler fight, and more pleasing to God, to struggle with spiritual weapons against sin and unbelief, and to benefit mankind--as your father does, Helena," he added, "and as I hope to emulate him in doing."

"Certainly it is a nobler calling, beautiful and holy, but a soldier also serves God when he fights on the side of right," said the young girl warmly.

"Which side is right?" asked the candidate; "both sides call on the God of battles, and very often what is evidently the wrong side conquers."

"For a soldier," cried Helena, "that side is the right which his duty and the oath plighted to his sovereign calls upon him to defend."

"Certainly, certainly," said the candidate, as if agreeing with her; "but women should feel greater interest in peaceful and beneficial usefulness,--what help, for instance, can a soldier be to his wife and children? at any moment he may be called away to do battle for the great ones of the earth,--he gives his life for a cause for which he does not care, and his family are left in need and misery."

"And they bear in their hearts the proud consciousness that he for whom they weep is worthy to be called a hero," cried Helena with kindling eyes.

The candidate gave his cousin a reproving look, and said, in a solemn voice,--

"I believe the conflict in God's service has also its heroes."

"Certainly," said Helena, without embarrassment; "every calling has its own round of duty to fulfil, and we," she added with a smile, "are here to comfort and to help those who are wounded in the battle of life."

And again she dreamily turned her eyes to the distance. After a moment she rose hastily.

"I think," she said, "the heat will be less oppressive out of doors. I will walk to meet my father; he must now be returning." As she put on her straw hat she asked, "Will you come with me, cousin?"

"With the greatest pleasure," he replied eagerly; and they left the parsonage together, taking the road which led to the village.

"I have so greatly enjoyed my life here," said the candidate, after they had walked for a short time in silence, "that I already quite understand the charm of this quiet, peaceful seclusion, and I own myself ready to forego all larger circles of society."

"You see," said Helena merrily, "a short time ago you shuddered at our solitude, as I did at the restless, crowded city. At a time like this," she added, with a sigh, "it is hard to be so completely cut off from the world; we literally hear nothing--what has happened to the army and the king?" she said with energy. "Our poor sovereign!"

The candidate was silent.

"Really," he said, after a short pause, continuing his own flow of thought, as if he had not heard his cousin's last words, "really one. cannot feel solitary here. Your father's conversation, so simple, yet so rich in thoughts, offers greater variety than many an assembly in the great world; and your society, dear Helena," he added warmly.

She looked at him with astonishment. "My society," she interrupted, with a smile, "cannot compensate for your friends in town; my learning----"

"Your learning!" he exclaimed hastily; "is it learning that charms us in a woman?"

"A certain amount must be needful," said she, half jokingly, "when conversing with a learned man."

"Not for me," he cried. "Natural simplicity of heart and intellect has a charm for me. A man wishes to form, to educate his wife, not to find her opinions already fixed," he cried, his voice assuming a sudden tenderness of expression.

Her eyes were raised to his for a moment, and then lowered. They walked on for a time in silence.

"Helena," he said, "it is true that the idea of quiet, simple usefulness in the country attracts me more and more; and it is also true that your society has greatly influenced me."

She walked on in silence.

"When a man relinquishes the intellectual pleasures of the great world," he added, "he naturally seeks some equivalent; and this equivalent I find in my family, my home. I shall remain here to assist your father in his spiritual office. I shall experience double happiness in my labours, if my own heart finds a lovely flower to reward my unassuming industry. Helena," he continued, with animation, "shall you find no satisfaction in uniting with me to support and cheer the evening of your father's life, and in assisting me in my holy calling? Will you not stand at my side as a help-mate, such as your mother was to your father?"

The young girl walked on, her eyes fixed on the ground. A deep sigh heaved her breast.

"Cousin----"

"It does not become me, a servant of the Church," he interrupted, "to speak to you in the manner and the tone in which a man of the world might declare his love; pure and bright must be the flame which holds a place in the heart of a minister. But such a flame my heart offers you, Helena; and I ask you, plainly and candidly, will you accept what my heart can give, and do you believe you can thus find the quiet happiness of your life?"

She stood still, and looked at him calmly and honestly.

"Your words surprise me, cousin. I did not expect to hear this, and so suddenly----"

"The relations between us must be made clear," he said. "For this reason I have told you the feelings of my heart. A minister cannot woo as a man of the world; you cannot be surprised at that, being yourself the daughter of a minister."

"But consider," she said hesitatingly, "we scarcely know each other."

"Have you no confidence in me?" he asked. "Could you not accept me as your support through life?"

She looked on the ground. A deep blush spread over her face.

"But one must also----"

"Well, what?" he asked, and with piercing glance he gazed at her anxiously.

"Love," she whispered.

"And that you believe you could not feel for me?" he enquired.

Again she looked up at him. Again she sighed deeply, and her eyes were for a moment turned dreamily to the distance. Then a slight, half roguish smile came to her lips, and she whispered,--

"One cannot tell beforehand!"

"Beforehand?" he said, and a darker expression passed over his face.

"Cousin," she said, with sweetness and candour, as she held out her hand to him, "your words mean well, and it is flattering to me that you should think I can be anything to your life. Let me then tell you honestly, I think you are mistaken. Perhaps," she added kindly, "it is not needful to pursue this conversation, that has so surprised me, just now. Give me time. I promise to think of what you have said; and when we know each other better, I will tell you."

He looked down gloomily.

"Oh," he said bitterly, "your heart answers already; it does not respond to the simple language of my feelings. I truly do not know how to raise excitement and restless emotion. The servant of the Church cannot hope to cause the fiery passion that a--young officer----"

She stood still. Her face was very pale, and her eyes were fixed upon him with a proud look.

He stopped suddenly, as if displeased with himself, and his excited features resumed their usual smooth and calm expression.

"Cousin," she said coldly, "I must beg you not to continue this conversation now. Examine your own feelings, and give me time. My father----"

"Your father's wishes are my own," he said.

She bent her head, and a melancholy look passed over her face.

"My father," she then said, "cannot wish me to make any promise without examining my own heart."

"And you will tell me your decision, when you have made this examination?"

"Yes," said she. "Now leave me, I beg."

A deep breath passed through his thin lips; he cast his eyes to the ground, and walked by her silently and gravely.

"Here comes my father," cried Helena, and hastened to meet the pastor, who was returning by a side road leading to some of the scattered cottages of the village.

The candidate followed in silence.

"This is well," said the old gentlemen, "my children, that you come together to meet me; it is better in these troubled times not to be alone. Throughout the village there is sorrow and anxiety about the absent, the more so that a rumour is flying through the country of a most exciting nature."

"What is the rumour, papa?" cried Helena; "nothing disastrous?"

"Glorious, yet disastrous," said the pastor; "there has been a great battle, so it is said from village to village, from house to house. Our army has won a great victory; but much, much blood has been shed."

"Oh, how horrible!" cried Helena, with great emotion, as she folded her hands. The candidate's quick eyes regarded her with curiosity; but she did not remark it, her looks were fixed on space.

"People scarcely know which they feel," continued the pastor quietly, "joy at the victory, or anxiety lost sons and brothers should have fallen."

"How happy are those," said the candidate, "who have no relative in the army; then there is no anxiety, no care."

"You have not, like myself, lived here for years," replied the pastor gravely. "Every member of my flock is as dear to me as if he were my relation. I feel each grief that affects them as if I myself were smitten."

Helena involuntarily caught her father's hand with a hasty movement, and pressed it to her lips. The old gentleman felt a tear upon his hand. With a gentle smile, he said,--

"You too, my good child, feel for the sorrows of our friends. I know it must be so; you have grown up amongst them."

Helena covered her face for a moment with her handkerchief and sobbed.

The candidate flashed an evil, malicious side glance upon her, whilst a cold, scornful smile played around his lips.

"I am going to the president," said the pastor; "there they must have the earliest reliable news, and they will be most anxious about the lieutenant. Poor Madame von Wendenstein! Come with me to the castle, children."

And they took the road to the hill upon which the old house stood amidst high dark woods.

Helena took her father's arm, and involuntarily hastened her steps.

They climbed the hill and entered the hall by the open door. The great oak chests stood there as still and solemn as ever, and the old paintings looked down from their frames as gravely and quietly as if there were no changes, no cares nor sorrows in the world of living men.

In the large garden drawing-room Herr von Wendenstein paced up and down with measured step, Madame von Wendenstein sat in her accustomed place before the large round table, and her daughters were beside her; all was as usual, yet a heavy cloud of care weighed on each brow, on each heart.

The president held out his hand to the pastor in silence, silently Madame von Wendenstein greeted her visitors, and the young girls embraced without speaking a word.

"A rumour is abroad of a great battle, and of a great victory," said the pastor; "I hoped here to learn something reliable."

"I have had no news," said the president gloomily. "I only know what has been brought from mouth to mouth; some part will be true; let us hope the news of the victory may be confirmed."

He said nothing of the care and anxiety of his heart for the son who was on the distant battle-field, but an affectionate and sympathizing look flew from beneath his contracted brows towards his wife.

"What a wonderful thing the world is!" she said in a low tone, as she shook her head. "In peaceful times, steam and the telegraph seemed to have annihilated time and space, and news of the most unimportant trifles flew from one end of the earth to the other; and now, when so many hearts are tormented by restless anxiety, news travels slowly and uncertainly from mouth to mouth, as in the days that are long passed away."

"So it is with the proud achievements of human intellect," said the pastor; "when the hand of God seizes the history of a nation, man grows weak and powerless, and all the progress the world has made becomes as nothing. But that it is God's hand must be our consolation, He has power to raise up and to protect, He has power to heal the wounds His hands have made."

With a pious look of resignation, Madame von Wendenstein listened to the pastor's words, but tears trickled down her cheeks, and proved how hard her heart found this anxious suspense.

"I have no news from the army," said the president, "but I have received a letter from my son in Hanover. He tells me of the Prussian government, and praises its order and punctuality highly," said the old gentleman with some bitterness.

"Public men must be in great and painful difficulties in Hanover," said the pastor; "there, political views are much more in the foreground than here in the country, and it must be extremely hard to reconcile the duties of a servant of Hanover with the necessities of the situation."

"It appears as if the gentlemen in office found them easy to reconcile," said the president gloomily. "It is certainly good that the Prussian government should be excellent, prompt, and punctual, but it would never come into my head in these days to feel any particular enthusiasm about it. Well, youth is different to what it was in my day."

The auditor Bergfeld entered the room with a hasty step and an excited look.

"What news do you bring from Lüchow?" cried the president, hastening towards him: and all eyes were fixed on him in mute anxiety.

"It is true!" he cried; "there has been a battle--at Langensalza, and our army is victorious!"

"Thank God!" cried the president; "and have they succeeded in pressing on to the south?"

"Alas, no," said Bergfeld, mournfully, "the day after the battle our brave soldiers were surrounded by overwhelming forces and obliged to capitulate." The president gazed gloomily before him. "Is the king a prisoner?" he asked. "No," said Bergfeld, "the king is free, the capitulation is very honourable, the officers return home with their arms and horses. But," he continued, "there are many wounded; in Hanover committees have been formed, nourishment is wanted, they beg for linen, for bread and meat."

"Everything in the house shall be packed up at once," cried the president, energetically, "the wounded must have the best of everything; my cellar shall be emptied."

Madame von Wendenstein had risen and approached her husband.

"Let me take the things," she said, imploringly. "Why?" cried the president, "you can do no good, and if Karl comes back, it--"

"If he comes back!" cried the old lady, bursting into tears.

"We shall soon hear news of him," said the president, "and until then--"

The sound of voices was heard in the hall. Johann entered and said, "Old Deyke is here; he wishes to speak to the president."

"Bring him in, bring him in!" cried the old gentleman, and the old peasant Deyke came in amongst the excited group, looking as calm and dignified as usual, but with a deep and gloomy gravity spread over his sharp features.

"Well, dear Deyke," cried the president, "have you heard the news; do you come to consult with us how to send in the quickest way all that our brave soldiers need?"

"I have received a letter from my Fritz," said the peasant solemnly, whilst he respectfully took the hand held out to him by the president.

"Well, and how does the brave young fellow get on? cried the old gentleman.

"Has he seen my son?" asked Madame von Wendenstein, gazing at the peasant with anxious eyes.

"He has found the lieutenant," he replied, laconically.

"And my son lives?" cried the poor lady with hesitation. She feared to hear the answer which must touch the inmost string of her heart.

"He lives," said old Deyke. "I wish to say a couple of words to the president alone," he stammered.

"No!" cried Madame von Wendenstein, vehemently, "no, not alone. Deyke, you have some bad news, but I will hear it; I am strong enough to hear anything, but I cannot bear suspense. I beg you," she continued, looking affectionately at her husband, "to let me hear what he has to tell."

The president looked undecided. The pastor came forward slowly.

"Permit your wife to hear the tidings, whatever they may be, my old friend," he said, gravely and quietly. "Your son lives, that is the first and most important point; whatever may be to come, cannot be too hard for a true and pious heart, like our friend's, to bear."

Madame von Wendenstein looked gratefully at the clergyman.

Old Deyke slowly drew out a paper.

"The president will perhaps look at my son's letter?"

"Give it to me," said the pastor; "it belongs to God's servant, an old friend of this house, to impart this message."

He took the paper and walked to the window, through which the last light of the waning day entered the room.

Madame von Wendenstein with widely opened eyes hung on his lips. Helena sat at the table with her head resting on her hand, calm and apparently indifferent; her eyes were cast down; it seemed doubtful whether she saw or heard anything passing around her.

Slowly the pastor read,--

"My dear Father,

"I write at once that you may have news of me, and, thank God, I am well and cheerful; I fell in with the army at Langensalza, and enlisted in the cuirassier guards, and took part in the great battle, and went under a hot fire, but I came out safe and sound. We were victorious, and took two cannon and many prisoners, but to-day we are surrounded by superior numbers, and the generals have said we could not march. So the king capitulated, and we are all coming home. My heart is almost broken when I look at all our brave soldiers going back with the white staff in their hands, and they don't look such cowardly creatures either.

"Now, dear father, I must tell you of Lieutenant von Wendenstein, with whom I must remain, for he is badly wounded, and I cannot leave him here alone. I found him on the battle-field and thought he was dead, but, thank God, it was not so bad as that; and the doctor has extracted the ball, and says he will live if he only has strength to hold out through the fever. I am with him at the brewer Lohmeier's, a good man though he is a Prussian, and the lieutenant is well cared for. My host sends off this letter for me through an acquaintance in the field post. Go at once to the president and tell him all, and have no anxiety about me for I am all right.

"Your son,

"Fritz.

"Written the 28th July, 1866."

The pastor was silent.

The president came up to his wife, put his arm round her shoulders, kissed her grey hair, and said,--

"He lives! my God, I thank thee!"

"And now I may go to him?" asked Madame von Wendenstein.

"And I?" cried her daughter.

"Yes," said the old gentleman, "and I wish I could go with you, but I should be of no use there."

Helena rose; she walked slowly but with a firm step towards Madame von Wendenstein and said, while her eyes shone brilliantly,--

"May I accompany you? If my father will permit it?"

"You, Helena?" cried the pastor.

"Our brave soldiers want nursing," said the young girl, looking firmly at her father, "and you have taught me to help the suffering. Will you not allow me at such a time as this to do my duty?"

The pastor looked kindly at his daughter. "Go, my child, and God be with you;" and turning to Madame von Wendenstein, he added, "Will you take my daughter under your protection?"

"With all my heart," cried the old lady, and folded the pastor's daughter in her arms.

Candidate Behrmann had watched the whole of this scene in silence.

He bit his lips, when Helena announced her intention of accompanying Madame von Wendenstein, and a pale ray shot from his eyes, but his face immediately resumed its smooth smiling expression, he stepped forward and said in a gentle voice,--

"I shall also beg permission, madame, to accompany you on your journey; it will be desirable for you to have a male protector, and I think on the site of the bloody battle-field spiritual consolation will be needed and welcomed. I believe I can be more useful there than here, where until I return my uncle can so well fulfil all the duties of his sacred office alone."

He looked humbly and modestly at his uncle and the president, awaiting their reply.

"That is a good and right thought, my dear nephew," said the pastor, holding out his hand to him; "on yonder battle-field there is grave and blessed work to be done, and I can get on here in the meantime quite well alone."

The president was glad that the ladies should have a protector, and Madame von Wendenstein thanked the candidate heartily for facilitating her journey to her suffering son.

Helena had looked up, startled for a moment when her cousin said he would accompany the ladies; then in silence, with downcast eyes, she listened to the rest of the conversation, neither word nor look betraying the least interest in it.

The greatest movement and activity suddenly began in the old castle.

Madame von Wendenstein hastened through the well-known rooms ordering and arranging, here showing her daughters what must be packed in the travelling trunks, there sorting out wine, sugar, and nourishment of all kinds, then again giving the servants instructions as to what they were to do in her absence: all the silent abstraction which had altered the old lady during the last few days had vanished, with active step and shining eyes she hurried about, and anyone so seeing her might have thought she was preparing for some great festival.

Helena had returned to the Pfarrhaus with her father and the candidate to make her rapid preparations for the journey, and not quite two hours after the journey had been decided on the president's comfortable carriage, with its well-bred powerful horses, stood before the large hall door of the castle.

Madame von Wendenstein gave her husband a long and affectionate embrace, it was the first time for years that they had been separated. He laid his hand on her head and said, "God bless you! and bring you back with our son!"

Old Deyke was there, and a crowd of villagers were there too, with their wives and daughters, for the news had spread like wild-fire that the president's wife and daughter were going to nurse the wounded lieutenant, and that the pastor's daughter and the new candidate were to accompany them. They all came to take leave, and Madame von Wendenstein shook hands with all, and promised each to gain news of this or that relative who was with the army. What the carriage could still hold was taken up with love offerings that all had brought for their relations, and every head was uncovered when at last the carriage rolled away; but there was no shouting, no loud word was heard, and they all went back quietly to their homes, in great anxiety as to what the next few days must bring, whether the life or death of those dear to them.

The president went quietly back into the castle with the pastor, and the two old gentlemen sat together for a long time. They said but little, and yet each found in these weary times consolation in the society of the other. The president cast his eyes round the drawing-room, which was as quiet and comfortable as ever, but when he looked at the place where his wife usually sat, and thought of the cheerful voices which used to sound through the room, and then turned his thoughts to the distant town where his son lay threatened by death, a mist came before his eyes, he pressed his eyelids together and a hot drop fell on his hand. He stood up quickly, and walked several times up and down the room.

The pastor arose.

"My honoured old friend," he said, "at such a moment as this a man like yourself need not be ashamed of a tear! It is late, let us go to rest, and these days will pass away!"

The president stood still, held out his hand to the pastor, and looked at him through the blinding tears which ran down his cheeks.

"Pray to God," he said in a low voice, "to give me back my son."

The pastor went home. All was quiet in the castle and the darkness of night brooded over it, but a light still burned in the president's window, and the servants heard, even until morning dawned, the firm regular step of their old master as he paced up and down in the lonely castle.

CHAPTER XVI.

[INTRIGUE].

Whilst in North Germany the catastrophe so disastrous to the House of Guelph was completed, in Vienna everything was expected from the battle which all foresaw must take place in Bohemia almost immediately. The Austrian arms had been successful in Italy, that drill ground for the Austrian general staff officers, the battle of Custozza had been won, and new confidence filled the Viennese, as to their success in Germany.

The Viennese placed full confidence in Field-Marshal Benedek, the man of the people, and from him they expected, in their light-hearted, sanguine fashion, complete success. Those anxious doubts had vanished which a short time before had filled them with uneasiness; the arms of Austria were victorious in Italy, fortune was favourable to the empire, and with excited but joyful confidence they awaited news from Bohemia. A great victory was certainly expected.

Things were looked at differently, and not with such confidence in the state offices in the Ballhaus Platz, and in the Hofburg.

Count Mensdorff was sad and downcast; the Italian success had not removed his gloomy forebodings, and he could only reply with a feeble smile to the congratulations he received on the victory of Custozza. The emperor alternated between fear and joyful hope; the victory in Italy awakened in his heart the proud recollection of Novara, and a wide and brilliant future spread before his gaze. But when the doubts, the warnings of Field-Marshal Benedek occurred to him--the plain, straightforward general, who troubled himself little about strategic operations, and only knew how to lead his soldiers against the enemy and to fight; but who continually maintained that with these troops, in the condition in which he found them, he could not beat the enemy--the emperor's heart had deep misgivings, and he waited for the future with great anxiety.

Whilst all Vienna felt the most restless, feverish excitement; whilst everyone wished that time had wings to hasten the events of the future, Madame Antonia Balzer lay on her luxurious couch in her quiet boudoir. The curtains were closed, notwithstanding the great heat; a soft twilight prevailed, and a mysterious and varied perfume pervaded the room, that perfume which fills the immediate neighbourhood of an elegant and beautiful woman; one cannot tell of what it consists, but it gives the invisible air a magnetic, sympathetic charm.

The young lady lay there as if she courted sleep, and on her features neither the passionate abandon appeared with which she had welcomed Herr von Stielow, nor the icy coldness which she had shown to her husband.

Her large eyes gazed gloomily into space, and her face expressed anxious, mournful weariness.

A number of sealed letters and telegrams lay on a small table near her.

Her pearly hand played carelessly with a small poodle dog which lay curled up in her lap.

"I thought I was strong," she whispered to herself; "and yet I cannot forget him!"

She sprang up, placed the little dog upon the pillow, and walked slowly up and down the room.

"What a wonderful organization is our human nature!" she cried scornfully. "I thought I was strong. I had set it before me as a means to rule, to rise on the aspiring ladder of life, without permitting myself to be kept back by the emotions and motives of the common herd; and now, when my feet touch the very first step of the ladder I look back, my heart weeps; I am sick with love and regret, like any milliner's girl," she added, with an angry look, as she stamped her small foot upon the carpet.

She gazed before her.

"And why," she asked thoughtfully, "why cannot my heart forget one who so scornfully turned from me, who so contemptuously gave me up? This Count Rivero--he offers me what I long for; he is a man who occupies a high place in the world, and guides with powerful hand the threads that weave the fate of men; why do I not love him? I might be happy. And he," she continued, while a soft mist came over her eyes, and her arms were slightly raised, "he, for whom every pulse in my heart beats, he whom I call back in the still hours of the night, whom my arms seek in empty space, who is he? A boy,--in intellect far beneath me; yet oh! he is so beautiful, so pure!" she cried, stretching out her hands to the picture her mind had called up; "I love him, and I am the slave of my love!"

She sank wearily into a luxurious chair, and covered her face with her hands.

She sat for a long time motionless, and only the panting breath of her heaving bosom interrupted the silence of the darkened room.

Then again she sprang up, and with trembling lips and vehement voice she cried,--

"But she--who tore him from me--that fine lady, who from her cradle has enjoyed every happiness life can afford, who basks in the golden sunshine of an admiring world, who has all--all, that is denied me--shall she enjoy the love that I have lost?"

She hastily opened a small casket of incrusted ebony, and took out a photograph in the form of a carte-de-visite.

She regarded it long with glowing looks.

"What foolish, inexpressive features!" she cried; "how lukewarm, how wearisome must be her love. Can she make him happy--he, who has known the passion of my heart--who has learnt what love is?"

And she spasmodically seized the likeness and crushed it together.

The bell of the entrance hall aroused her from her stormy dreams; she threw the crumpled photograph hastily back into the casket, and her face resumed its usual calm expression.

The servant announced Count Rivero, who immediately entered, faultlessly elegant as ever, cold, calm, and friendly; the smile of the man of the world upon his lips.

With light elastic steps he approached the lady and pressed his lips lightly on her hand--not with the fiery warmth of a lover--still less with the respectful courtesy of a man of distinction towards a lady of the great world. In the count's greeting there was a certain negligent familiarity, which only his extreme elegance, and the courteous bearing which marked his every movement preserved from rudeness.

She seemed to feel this, and regarded her visitor coldly, almost with enmity.

"What? have you slept, my fair friend?" said the count, smiling: "truly it is hard to believe that the whole world is trembling with anxiety when one enters this darkened and quiet apartment."

"A number of letters and despatches have arrived!" she said, pointing to the small table near her couch.

"Are you sure," asked the count, "that this large correspondence does not arouse curiosity?"

She smiled coldly.

"They are accustomed to my receiving many letters, and I do not think they will seek here for the clue of important political events."

The count walked to the window, and drew back one of the curtains, admitting the bright light into the room. He then pushed the table with the letters to the window, and opened them one after another, whilst the young lady watched him from her easy-chair in silence.

The count drew a portfolio from his pocket, took out a small volume containing various ciphers, and with its help began to decipher the letters. The contents appeared in the highest degree satisfactory, for an expression of joy beamed from his face, and he rose with a proud look when he had ended the perusal.

"I see the work approaches its completion," he said, half to himself, half to Madame Balzer; "soon will the building of lies and wickedness fall in ruins, and truth and right will again triumph."

"And what will it be to me?" asked the young lady, slightly turning her head towards the count.

He came up to her, seated himself near her couch, and spoke with extreme courtesy, as he kissed the hand she negligently abandoned to him.

"You have assisted in a great and noble work, my lovely friend, and you have rendered very important assistance by taking charge of a secret correspondence, which has enabled me to preserve the appearance of a man of the world and ordinary traveller. I promise you an independent and brilliant position. The how you must leave to me. I hope you trust my words."

She gave him a quick look and said,--

"I do not doubt that you can keep your promise, or that you will keep it."

"But," he continued, "much remains still to be done, and I believe I can open out greater and nobler spheres to your genius and industry: will you continue to be my confederate?"

"I will," she replied; then a deep sigh heaved her breast, a rapid blush tinged her cheeks, and whilst a trembling fire sparkled in her eyes she said, "I have one wish."

"Express it!" he said with the gallantry of a man of the world; "if it be in my power to fulfil it--"

"I believe it is, for I have seen so many proofs of your power that I have unbounded confidence in it."

"Well?" he asked, gazing at her enquiringly.

She cast down her eyes, interlaced her fingers, and said in a low and timid voice,--

"Give me back Stielow."

Immense surprise, and a shade of displeasure appeared on his face.

"I certainly did not expect this wish," he said, "I thought you had forgotten this caprice. To fulfil it exceeds my power."

"I do not believe it," she replied, raising her eyes and gazing full at the count, "he is a boy, and you know how to lead earnest men of ripe years."

"But you forget," said he, "that--"

"That he, in a fit of ill-temper, out of spite, has thrown himself at the feet of a fade, insipid girl, who finds a place in the almanach de Gotha, where her heart is also," she cried, rising hastily from her recumbent position, with flashing eyes. "No, I do not forget it, but just for that reason I will have him back. I will help you in everything," she continued, speaking more slowly, "I will employ all the powers of my intellect and of my will, on behalf of your plans; but I will have something in return for myself, and I say therefore, 'Give me back Stielow.'"

"You shall certainly," said the count, "have for yourself whatever you wish. I impose no restraints on your little personal divertissements," he added, with a smile; "but what do you want with this boy--as you yourself call him?--can you not rule men with your genius, and by a glance from those eyes?"

"I love him!" she whispered.

The count looked at her with amazement.

"Forgive me!" he said, smiling, "this boy--"

"Because he is a boy," she cried, and a stream of passionate feeling gushed from her large widely-opened eyes,--"because he is so pure, so good, and so beautiful," she whispered, and her eyes were veiled with mist.

The count looked at her very gravely.

"Do you know," he said, "that the love which rules you will take from you the power of ruling others, and of being my ally?"

"No," she cried, "no, it will strengthen me; but the vain longing in my heart makes me gloomy and weak,--oh! give him back to me again. I own my weakness, let me in this one point be weak, and I promise in every other you shall find me strong and immovable."

"Had you told me before what you now tell me," said he thoughtfully, "it might have been possible, perhaps, but now it is out of my power, and--I may not use it; this young man shall not be the plaything of your caprice," he said gravely and decidedly, "shake off this weakness, be strong, and forget this fancy!"

She rose cold and calm.

"Let us speak of it no more," she said in her accustomed tone.

The count examined her attentively.

"You own I am right?" he asked.

"I will forget this fancy," she replied without a muscle of her face changing.

At this moment the door-bell was heard.

"It is Galotti," said the count, and opened the door of the boudoir.

A strongly-made man entered, of middle height with a full face. His thin hair left a lofty arched brow completely free, the bright eyes were quick and observing, and the full lips denoted an energetic temperament and brilliant eloquence.

"Things are going on excellently," cried the count, advancing to meet him. "Everything is prepared for the decisive blow. The Sardinian party have lost courage; they are disorganized by the Austrian victory, and with one stroke the contemptible government they call Italian will crumble to pieces."

"Glorious! glorious!" cried Galotti, as he pressed Count Rivero's hand, and approached the lady, whom he greeted with all the grace of one accustomed to good society. "I bring good news too," he said, "they are ready at the Farnese Palace, and Count Montebello has, in answer to a confidential enquiry, made it clearly understood that he will take no steps to prevent Italy from becoming what was intended at the peace of Zurich."

"I will leave you, gentlemen," said Madame Balzer. "I will have breakfast prepared in the dining-room, and shall be at your disposal when your interview is ended."

Count Rivero kissed her hand, Signer Galotti bowed, and she withdrew through the door leading to her sleeping apartment.

"The king will go to Naples?" asked the count as soon as she had left the room.

"At the very first sign from us," replied Galotti, "a troop of brigands, formed of old soldiers of the Neapolitan guards, will await him on the coast, the Sardinian garrisons are always weak, and at the first signal the whole people will rise!"

"Do you think the moment has come for placing the match to our well-laid train?" asked the count.

"Certainly," replied Galotti; "what should we wait for? The Sardinian army is completely demoralized by the battle of Custozza, and is held in check by the Grand Duke Albert, so that it cannot be employed in the interior. The most rapid action is needful; in a few weeks Italy can be freed from the heavy yoke which weighs her down. Everyone is waiting longingly for the word, the giving of which is in your hand."

The count walked thoughtfully to the window.

"Everything has been prepared so long, thought over so carefully," said he, "and yet now the decisive moment approaches, now the eventful word--'Act!'--must be spoken, giving life and motion to our quiet preparations,--the doubt arises whether all is well organized. Yet we can no longer hesitate. We must send the watchword to Rome and Naples, and to Tuscany," he said, turning to Galotti; "here are three addresses," he added, taking from his portfolio three cards and carefully perusing them. "The text of the telegram is written below, the names, like the contents of the despatches, are perfectly unimportant, they will disclose nothing."

And with a trembling hand he held out the cards to Signor Galotti.

Madame Balzer rushed into the boudoir.

"Do you know, Count Rivero," she cried, "that the army in Bohemia is completely defeated? The news is spreading like wild-fire through Vienna, my maid has just heard it in the house."

The count gazed at her in blank dismay. His eyes opened wide with horror, a nervous movement convulsed his lips, and he hastily snatched up his hat.

"Impossible!" cried Galotti. "General Gablenz has been victorious in several skirmishes; a great battle was not expected."

"We must hear what has happened," said the count, in a low voice, "it would be horrible if this intelligence were true."

He was about to hasten away. A violent peal at the bell was heard, and almost immediately a young man in the dress of a priest entered the room.

"Thank God! that I find you here, Count Rivero," he cried, "nothing must be done, the disaster is immense, Benedek is totally beaten, the whole army is in wild flight and confusion."

The count was dumb. His dark eyes were raised to heaven with a burning look, deep grief was painted on his features.

"We must act so much the more rapidly and energetically," cried Galotti; "if this news reaches Italy our confederates will be frightened and confused, the enemy will gain courage, and the lukewarm will become foes."

He stretched out his hand to take the cards which Rivero still held.

The count made a movement of refusal.

"How did you gain your information, Abbé Rosti?" he asked quietly.

"It has just been brought from the Hofburg to the Nuncio," replied the abbé. "Unhappily there is no doubt of its truth."

"Then the work of years is lost!" said Count Rivero, in a grave and melancholy voice.

"Let us use the present moment!" cried Galotti, "let us act quickly; then, let what will happen in Germany, we shall at least have restored Italy to her ancient rights, and Austria must be grateful to us if we give her in Italy the influence she has lost in Germany."

"No!" said the count, calmly, "we must not venture upon action before the situation is perfectly plain. Our whole force in Italy is quite strong enough to break the Piedmontese rule if the regular army is engaged and defeated by the victorious Austrian troops, but we are not in a position to effect anything against the army of Piedmont if it is free to act against us. We should uselessly sacrifice all our faithful friends, and we should destroy the organization we have formed with such toil, which will be useful to us in the future, and which we could never again bring to such perfection if it were now broken up. And I fear Victor Emanuel's army will be free, I fear Vienna will give up Italy."

"Give up Italy, after the victory of Custozza!" cried the Abbé Rosti, "it is impossible,--wherefore?"

"For Germany! which she will also lose!"

"But, my God!" cried Galotti, "that would have been done before the campaign, if done at all. Austria's forces in Germany would have been doubled--but now--"

"My dear friend," said the count, sighing, "remember the words of the First Napoleon: 'Austria is always too late--by one year, one army, and one idea!'"

"I cannot make up my mind to sit still," cried Galotti, energetically, "now that everything is prepared, and we seem almost to hold success in our hands."

"I do not desire that we should indifferently sit still," said Count Rivero; "we will never sit still," he added, with flashing eyes, "but we must perhaps begin again a long and toilsome work from the beginning. For the present we must not act hastily, and compromise individuals and events, risking the future before we see our way clearly. Do you know," he enquired of the abbé, "how the emperor received the intelligence and what he did?"

"The emperor was much cast down, as was natural," said the abbé; "he sent Count Mensdorff immediately to the army, that he might ascertain its condition. That is all we have yet heard."

"Mensdorff was right," said Count Rivero, thoughtfully; then, raising himself with an energetic movement, he said: "Once more, gentlemen, we must see clearly before we act; and our courage must not fail, even if we perceive long years of toil before us. Above all, I wish to be fully informed as to the present, then we will speak of the future."

He approached the lady, who had remained during the conversation gazing before her as if completely indifferent, and said, as he kissed her hand: "Auf Wiedersehn! chère amie!" then he added in a somewhat lower voice, "Perhaps the moment will soon come for opening so wide a field to your skilful industry, that all minor wishes will be forgotten!"

She looked up at him quickly for a moment, but she did not reply.

The two other gentlemen took leave, and left the room with the count.

The young lady remained alone.

A flashing look followed them as they withdrew.

"You wish to use me for your plans," she cried, "you seek to charm me with hopes of freedom and dominion, and you would prepare for me a gilded slavery? You forbid my heart to beat, because it cannot be so serviceable as your tool? Ah! you deceive yourself, Count Rivero! I need you, but I am not your servant, your slave! Well then, let war begin between us," she said, with determination; "not war to the death, but a war for rule; I will try to make your proud shoulders bear me up to power and independence. Independence!" said she, sighing, after a short silence, "how much I am short of it, yet let me go carefully and prudently onwards; first, I will see whether I cannot win back the unfaithful friend to whom my heart still clings, without the aid of my master."

She threw herself on the sofa, and looked thoughtfully before her.

"But, my God!" she cried, with anguish in her eyes, as she pressed her tender hand to her forehead, "I wish to win him back, and he is before the enemy, the great battle has been fought, perhaps he lies dead already upon the bloody field." And her eyes gazed into space as if she actually saw the horrible picture her fancy had painted.

Then she leant back and a dark expression passed over her face.

"And if it were so?" she said, gloomily, "perhaps it would be better for me, and I might then be free from the burning thorn I cannot tear from my heart. The count is right! such love is weakness, and I will not be weak! perhaps I should again be strong. But to know that he is living, to think that he belongs to me no longer, that he, in his beauty, is at the feet of another--"

She sprang up, a wild glow kindled in her eyes, her breast heaved high, her beautiful features were distorted by the vehemence of her emotion.

"Never, never!" she said, in a low, hissing voice. "If he were dead, I could forget him; but that picture will pursue me everywhere--will poison my life. Poison!" she repeated, and an evil flash passed across her face. "How easy it was in days gone by," she whispered, "to destroy an enemy! Now--" Again she stared blankly before her. "But is it needful to poison the body to conquer difficulties?"

A wicked smile played around her beautiful mouth; her eyes flashed, and for a long time she sat thinking deeply.

She rose and went to her rosewood writing-table. She took a packet of letters from one compartment and began to read them attentively. Several she threw back; at last she seemed to have found what she sought. It was a short note only, written on a single sheet.

"He wrote me this during the manœ uvres," said she; "this will serve me."

She read:--

"My sweet queen,

"I must tell you in a few words how my heart longs for you, and how much I feel this separation. All day I am interested, and hard at work at my duty, but when at night I lie down in bivouac, the stars above me, and the soft breath of night sighing around, then your sweet image dwells in my heart; I seem to feel your breath; I open my arms seeking to embrace you; and when at last sleep weighs down my eyelids, you are with me in my dreams. Oh, that the unmelodious trumpet must destroy such heavenly visions! I would ever dream until I am again with you, and find with you a sweeter reality. I kiss this paper, so soon to touch your lovely hands."

While she read her voice was soft, and she gazed at the letter lost in recollections.

Then again her features grew cold and hard.

"This will do perfectly," said she; "and no date; excellent!"

She seized a pen, and after considering the handwriting for a few moments, she wrote at the commencement of the letter--"June 30th, 1866."

She looked attentively at her writing.

"Yes," she said, "it will pass capitally."

She rang a small silver bell. Her maid entered.

"Find my husband," said Madame Balzer, "and tell him I wish to speak to him immediately."

The maid withdrew, and the young lady walked thoughtfully to the window, carelessly looking down on the excited crowds below, whilst a slight smile of satisfaction played on her lips.

CHAPTER XVII.

[DEFEAT].

Gloomy silence prevailed in the Hofburg. In the midst of the rejoicings at the Italian victory the annihilating thunderbolt had fallen, ruining all hopes of success in Bohemia, and destroying in a moment the blind confidence that had been placed in Field-Marshal Benedek and his operations. It was as if a sudden stupefaction had come on everyone. The attendants glided slowly and sadly through the long corridors, and scarcely said the few words necessary for the fulfilment of their duties. Immediately after receiving the intelligence of the lost battle, the emperor had sent Count Mensdorff to Benedek's head-quarters, that, being himself a soldier, he might judge of the condition of affairs; he then withdrew into his own apartments, and only the adjutant-general had access to him.

Deep silence reigned in the imperial ante-room. The life guardsman stood quietly before the emperor's door; the equerry on duty, Baron Fejérváry de Komlos, leant silently against the window and looked at the groups below, as they formed and again dispersed after grave whispered converse. There were often looks cast upwards to the windows of the castle, as though they longed for fresh news--for something decided, to remove their load of anxiety.

The regular ticking of the great old clock was heard, marking as calmly these saddest moments to the House of Hapsburg as it had proclaimed during its greatest splendour that all yielded to the inexorable scythe of Time. For Time goes on with equal pace during the flying moments of happiness and during the creeping hours of the blackest day, only in the rush of happiness his iron footstep is unheard, whilst in the sad stillness of misfortune "memento mori" sounds on every ear, and calls to each one of us from the bosom of the solemn vanished past.

Thus was it here. The guardsman and the equerry had often performed their duty in this very room, with their hearts full of joyful thoughts of the world without; and all those hours had vanished from their recollection, or had melted together in a blurred picture; but these hours, these still, dark hours, with the slow stroke of the heavy pendulum marking their lingering seconds, were buried deep in their memory for ever.

The Adjutant-General Count Crenneville entered. He was accompanied by the Hanoverian ambassador, General von Knesebeck, dressed in the full uniform of a Hanoverian general, and followed by the King of Hanover's equerry, Major von Kohlrausch, a simple soldier-like man, with a short black moustache and a bald head.

General von Knesebeck, the tall, stately man who had moved with so firm and proud a step through Count Mensdorff's salons, now stooped in his walk. Sorrow and mourning lay on his grave regular features, and without speaking a word he saluted the equerry on duty.

"Will you announce me, dear baron?" said Count Crenneville to Baron von Fejérváry.

He entered the imperial apartment, and returning immediately, signified to the adjutant-general by a respectful movement that the emperor awaited him.

Count Crenneville entered the cabinet of Francis Joseph.

The emperor again wore a large grey military cloak. He sat bending over his writing-table; pens, papers, and letters lay untouched before him; there were no signs of the restless industry of a sovereign who never allowed an hour to pass idly. It was not grief which the excited, wearied countenance of the emperor wore, it was comfortless, dull despair.

Crenneville looked sadly at his sovereign thus weighed down with sorrow, and said, with deep emotion,--

"I beg your imperial majesty not to yield to the sad impression of this disastrous news. We all--all Austria looks to her emperor. No misfortune is so great that a strong will and a resolute courage cannot amend it; and if your majesty despairs, what will the army--what will the people do?"

The emperor slowly raised his wearied eyes and passed his hand over his brow as if to ease it of a load of thought.

"You are right," he answered mournfully. "Austria expects from me courage and decision, and truly," he cried, raising his head, whilst an angry flash darted from his eyes, "courage I have, might I but face the enemy's fire, and if my personal courage could procure success, victory should not fail the banners of Austria! But must I not believe that I am ordained to misfortune, that my sceptre must bring destruction upon Austria? Have I not done everything to procure success? have I not placed at the head of the troops a man whom the army and the nation considered the most competent? And now?--beaten!" cried he vehemently, with tears in his eyes, "beaten after so haughty, so bold an attack, beaten by this enemy who during the last century has seized on my ancestral inheritance in Germany, an enemy whom I hoped to overthrow for ever. What avails me the victory in Italy, if I lose Germany? oh! it is hard!"

And the emperor supported his head in both his hands whilst a deep sigh heaved his breast.

Count Crenneville came a step nearer.

"Your majesty!" said he, "all is not yet lost. Mensdorff will perhaps bring us good news; the battle must have cost the enemy much, perhaps all may still be well."

The emperor let his hands sink down and looked at the count for some time.

"My dear Crenneville!" he then said, gravely and slowly, "I will tell you something which has never been so clear to me as at this moment. Do you know," he said dreamily, "what great characteristic of my family carried Hapsburg and Austria through all the hardest times? It was its tenacity, its tough indestructible tenacity, that bent beneath the blows of misfortune, without for a moment losing sight of the aim for which to suffer, to wait, to conquer. Go to past history, look up the darkest, heaviest times, you will find in all my ancestors proofs of unconquerable endurance, and you will find too that this characteristic was their salvation. This tenacity," he continued after a short silence, "this Hapsburg endurance, in me is wanting, and that is my misfortune. Joy bears me on his light pinions high as the heavens, large views of life fill me with mighty inspiration, but even so the heavy hand of misfortune dashes me to the ground. I can fight, I can sacrifice myself, but I cannot bear, I cannot wait--oh! I cannot wait!" he cried, with a look of horror.

Then suddenly he raised his head, he pressed his beautiful teeth lightly on the full under lip and said, the princely pride of the Hapsburg kindling in his eyes,--

"You are right, Count Crenneville, I must not yield to weakness; forget that you have seen me weak so long; is the misfortune great?--we must be greater than misfortune!"

"The heavier the blow, the more deeply it affects your heart, so much the more I admire the bold courage which your majesty now, as ever, regains. I rejoice the more," added the count, "that your imperial majesty is superior to disaster, as the Ambassador General Knesebeck has just requested an audience; he bears the heavy blow which has fallen on his master well and chivalrously!"

"The poor king," cried the emperor, "he has bravely defended his rights, and he now expects from me help and protection! All those princes," he continued gloomily, "who assembled around me in the old imperial hall at Frankfort, how shall I appear before them after this shameful defeat!" And again he sank into brooding thought.

"Your majesty!" cried Count Crenneville in a low, imploring tone.

The emperor stood up.

"Bring General von Knesebeck in!"

The adjutant-general hastened to the door, and a moment afterwards returned with General von Knesebeck, and Major von Kohlrausch.

The emperor walked towards the general and held out his hand with much emotion.

"You bring sad news, my dear general; I am filled with admiration for your royal master, and I deeply deplore that such great heroism could not command a happier result. Alas! you have found little to console you here," he added with a visible effort; and then as if unwilling to pursue the painful subject, he turned a look of enquiry towards Major von Kohlrausch.

"Your majesty," said General von Knesebeck, "I mast first beg permission to introduce to you Major von Kohlrausch, equerry to my royal master. He begs the honour of presenting a letter from our sovereign."

The emperor bowed kindly to the major, who stepped forward in a soldier-like manner and placed a writing in the emperor's hand.

He opened it quickly and looked through its brief contents.

"His majesty imparts the melancholy catastrophe to me in a few words, and refers me to you for a personal communication, major."

"My gracious master," said Major von Kohlrausch, as if repeating a military order, "commanded me to tell your imperial majesty, that after the great efforts made by his army to preserve the independence of his crown, and victoriously to defend his kingdom, and after these efforts and the successful battle of Langensalza were rendered useless by the superior numbers of the enemy, his majesty deemed his most dignified and worthy course would be to repair to your imperial majesty, his illustrious confederate."

"And his true friend!" cried the emperor warmly.

The major bowed and proceeded.

"May I ask your imperial majesty whether the visit of the king and his reception in Vienna will be agreeable to you?"

"Agreeable!" cried the emperor with animation, "I long to embrace the heroic monarch who has given us all so high an example of princely stedfastness. Truly," he proceeded with a sigh, "the king will no longer find here a powerful ally; he will find a broken power needing the greatest courage and every exertion to avert the worst consequences."

"I believe I am speaking the mind of my royal master," said Major von Kohlrausch, "when I assure your imperial majesty the king is ready and resolved to share fortune and misfortune with his illustrious ally, whose cause is his own and that of right."

The emperor looked on the ground for a moment. Then he raised his eyes with a brilliant expression, and said, his countenance glowing with courage and happy pride,--

"The friendship and the trust of so noble and heroic a heart as your king's must give courage to all, and fresh confidence in our cause. Tell your royal master I await him with impatience, and that he will find me worthy to defend the cause of right and of Germany to the uttermost. My answer to the king shall be given to you as soon as possible."

The emperor ceased. The major silently awaited a sign of dismissal.

After a few moments Francis Joseph said, in a voice of emotion,--

"The king has given us an unparalleled example of heroism. I am anxious to express my admiration for his courage and that of the crown prince during the last few days by an outward sign. I will immediately summon the chapter of the Order of Maria Theresa, and my army will be proud if the king and his son will wear upon their breasts the noblest and highest sign of honour to an Austrian soldier--wait until I can send you the insignia."

"I know my master well enough," said the major, with a joyful expression, "to be sure that such a sign will fill him with the highest satisfaction, and that the whole Hanoverian army will receive it with proud joy."

"I have been much pleased, my dear major," said the emperor, gracefully, "to receive you on this occasion as an envoy from the king. I will, with the other things, send you the cross of the Order of Leopold, and I beg you to wear it in memory of this moment, and of my friendly remembrance."

The major bowed deeply. "Without this gracious sign," he said, "I should never forget this moment."

"Now rest yourself," said the emperor, kindly, "that you may have strength when all is ready for your return."

He bowed his head as a dismissal. The major with a quick military salute left the cabinet.

"You have been in the Bavarian head-quarters," said the emperor to General von Knesebeck.

"I have, your majesty," replied he. "When, in consequence of despatches received from Count Ingelheim, your majesty commanded me to go at once to Prince Karl, and urgently to beg him, in your all-powerful name, to hasten to the assistance of the Hanoverian army, I set out immediately, and found the Bavarian head-quarters, which the day before had been at Bamberg, at Neustadt. I represented to Prince Karl the pressing danger of the Hanoverian army, and I implored him, in your majesty's name and in that of my king, to make a rapid advance towards Eisenach and Gotha, that a union might be effected, and a favourable and important change possibly be made in the whole campaign."

"And Prince Karl?" asked the emperor, anxiously.