CHAPTER CXXVIII.

A LETTER TO THE EMPRESS OF RUSSIA.

With flushed face and panting bosom, Maria Theresa paced her cabinet, sometimes glancing with angry eyes at the heaps of papers that covered her escritoire; then wandering hastily to and fro, perfectly insensible to the fatigue which in her advancing years generally overwhelmed her whenever she attempted to move otherwise than leisurely. The empress had received bad news from every quarter; but worst of all were the tidings that came from Bohemia. For more than a year the Austrian and Prussian armies had threatened one another; and yet nothing had been accomplished toward the settlement of the Bavarian succession.

Maria Theresa, shocked by the threat which Joseph had made to her through the Grand Duke of Tuscany, had broken off her negotiations with Frederick, and had sacrificed the dearest wishes of her heart to appease the fury of her imperial son. Notwithstanding this, no battle had been fought, for Frederick was quite as desirous as the empress could be, to avoid an engagement. He had declared war against his old adversary with the greatest alacrity; but when it became necessary to manoeuvre his army, the hero of so many fights was obliged to confess in the secrecy of his own heart that his gouty hand was impotent to draw the sword, and his tottering limbs were fitter to sink into an arm-chair than to bestride a war-horse.

Irritable, crabbed, and low-spirited, his campaign had proved a disastrous failure. Instead of planning battles, he had planned pillaging and foraging expeditions, and his hungry and disaffected army had converted the rich fields of Bohemia into a gloomy and desolate waste. At last succoring winter came to the help of the oppressed Bohemians, and both armies went into winter quarters. Maria Theresa had employed the season, which forced her ambitious son to inactivity, in new negotiations for peace. Count von Mercy had sought for intervention on the part of France, and Baron Thugut had made new proposals to Prussia. Until to-day the empress had indulged the hope of terminating this unhappy and ridiculous war; but her hopes had been frustrated by the dispatches she had just received from France and Bohemia. Count von Mercy wrote that so far from accepting the role of mediator, the French king expostulated with him upon the injustice of the claims of Austria, and earnestly recommended their total relinquishment as the only road to peace.

Another courier from Joseph announced that the winter season having almost closed, he hoped that he might now be permitted to prosecute the war with firmness and vigor. Circumstances were favorable to Austria, for General Wurmser had succeeded in surprising the Prince of Philippsthal, and in driving the Prussian garrison from their stronghold. The emperor, therefore, declared his intention of giving battle to Frederick, that he might at one stroke free Bohemia from the presence of a tyrannical and merciless enemy.

These were the tidings which had flooded the heart of the empress with anguish.

"I must have peace," thought she, as, perfectly unconscious of the fact, she still paced the floor of her cabinet. "I cannot go to my grave burdened with the crime of an unrighteous war. Peace! peace! Heavenly Father, send us peace! Something I must do, and that at once; and if my son still vituperates his unhappy mother, I know that my subjects, the people of Germany, and all Europe, will sustain me by their approbation."

Filled with the idea, she approached her escritoire, and again her eyes rested upon the papers and pamphlets that lay there. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes flashed fire, as lifting from the desk a heavy package, she threw it down with violence, exclaiming:

"Has that Schrotter been printing another absurd pamphlet, braying to the world of our rights to Bavaria? I must stop that man's mouth, and teach him discretion!"

Here the empress rang and gave two messages to the page who answered the summons. "Let Prince Kaunitz be informed that I would be happy to see his highness as soon as possible. Send a messenger to Counsellor von Schrotter, and let him be here in an hour."

So saying, the empress, who at last began to feel that she was exercising her limbs beyond all power of endurance, sank into an arm-chair and continued her reflections. They were any thing but consolatory. She could not humble herself to make any more proposals to Frederick. He was so arrogant that he might answer in such a way as to make war the only alternative for Austria. But where to go for a mediator? France had refused, and Marie Antoinette had with difficulty obtained from her husband a promise not to sustain Prussia.

"I have a most disobliging son-in-law in Louis," thought the empress, "and if Marie Antoinette were not in a condition where anxiety of mind might be fatal to her life, I should very soon speak plainly to the king, and let him understand distinctly how little I care for his approval or disapproval! But I must be patient for my daughter's sake; and if she gives birth to a dauphin, I shall be too happy to quarrel with her stubborn king. I had reckoned upon France, however, and I am disappointed and grieved."

So saying, the empress bent once more over her papers, and this time she opened a dispatch from her ambassador at St. Petersburg. She began to read:

"The King of Prussia is asking succor from Russia. The empress is quite ready to grant it, and has already marched an auxiliary force into Galicia. But she exacts that her troops shall act independently of Frederick, and requires of him for the prosecution of her war with Turkey, a subsidy of two million of thalers. The king is indignant at her exactions, so that the opportunity now offers to dissolve this dangerous alliance. If the empress-queen could bring herself to pen a letter to Catharine requesting her intervention—"

"No," exclaimed Maria Theresa, interrupting herself, "to such degradation I cannot stoop! It would be too base!" She threw down the letter, and frowning leaned her head upon her hand. "How," thought she, "could a virtuous woman write to that abandoned wretch who degrades the divine birthright of royalty by a dissolute life? How could Maria Theresa so humiliate herself as to ask succor of such a Messalina!"

The entrance of a page interrupted the empress's meditations. His highness Prince Kaunitz regretted that he was unable to obey her majesty's commands, as he was sick and not able to leave his room.

The empress dismissed the page, and frowned anew.

"I know perfectly well the nature of his malady," thought she. "Whenever he desires to consult with the emperor before seeing me, he falls sick. Whenever danger is ahead and affairs look stormy he retreats to his hole like a discreet fox. I wish to Heaven that I too could take to my bed and shut my eyes to all that is transpiring around us! But no," continued the empress with a pang of self-reproach, "I have no right to retire from the post of danger. I must act, and act quickly, or Joseph will be before me. Oh, my God, help me in my great need."

She re-read the dispatches from her different ambassadors, and each one breathed the same spirit. From every court in Europe camp disapprobation and blame. Every one of the great powers counselled peace—speedy peace, lest all should be drawn into the strife, and Austria left to the humiliation of struggling single-handed against every other nation in Europe.

The tears of the empress flowed fast. She could see no help on earth, and how could she feel otherwise than resentful toward the minister and the son who had brought her into this mortifying position? Suddenly she dried her tears and once more took up the dispatch from St. Petersburg. The silence in that little room was broken only by her sighs, and the rustling of the papers which she held in her hand. She paused, and those trembling hands fell into her lap. She threw back her head as if trying to make a difficult resolve.

"There is one way—but oh, how disgraceful!" murmured she. Again the gathering tears were dashed from her eyes, and she tried to read.

"It must be," sighed she, as she replaced the paper on the desk; "and if so, it must be done quickly. Oh, my Creator! Thou alone knowest how fearful to my heart is this sacrifice of womanly pride; but thou willest my humiliation, and I submit! Let me drink the chalice!"

She took up her pen and began to write. Often she hesitated—threw aside her sheet, and took another. Sometimes she read aloud what she had written; then starting at the sound of the words, resumed her writing in silence. At last the task was accomplished, and her eyes scanned the concluding paragraph

"With the conviction that my honor could be intrusted to no abler hands, I leave it to your majesty, in conjunction with France, to make such propositions as you may esteem best calculated to promote peace. In this trust I remain,

"Your majesty's true and devoted sister,

"MARIA THERESA." [Footnote: This letter of the empress is yet in the archives of St. Petersburg. Coxe, who copies it word for word, saw it there himself. See Coxe's "History of the House of Austria," vol. iv., page 592.]

As she read these words, the cheeks of the empress crimsoned with shame, and, burying her face in her hands, she sobbed aloud. When the paroxysm of her grief was over, her face was very pale and her eyes dim and swollen. "I must complete the humiliation," thought she; then folding the letter, it was directed "To Her Majesty the Empress of Russia."

She took up a tiny gold bell, and ringing it so that it gave out but a few strokes, a portiere was raised, and Koch entered the room.

"Take a copy of this letter, and send a courier with it to St. Petersburg. I have at last yielded to the wishes of my counsellors, and have written to the Empress of Russia. Peace, Koch—not a word!—my heart is not yet strong enough to bear the grief and shame of this hour."

The private secretary had scarcely left the room, when the page reentered, announcing Counsellor von Schrotter.

"Ah," said the empress, "he comes at the right moment. I am just in the mood to castigate those who have displeased me."

CHAPTER CXXIX.

THE GRATITUDE OF PRINCES.

The message of the empress had been received by Counsellor von Schrotter with rapture. His heart throbbed so joyfully that its every beat sent the quick blood bounding through his veins. The hour for acknowledgment of his long-tried services had arrived. For years he had lived a life of labor, research, and patient investigation. Among the deeds, parchments, and dusty green tables of the chancery, his youth had faded to middle age, and of its early hopes had retained but one single earthly ambition: it was that of taking a place among learned men, and becoming an authority of some weight in the judicial world. His pamphlets on the Bavarian succession had lifted him to fame, and now among his countrymen his name was beginning to be quoted as that of a great and accomplished jurist. Nothing was needed to complete the measure of his simple joys, save the approbation of the court, and some acknowledgment on the part of his sovereign of the fidelity with which he had labored for so many years in her behalf.

This precious tribute he was called upon to receive. He was to speak himself with the Empress of Austria. So excited was he by the thought, that the strong man trembled from head to foot; he was even more agitated than he had been twenty years before, when he had received his diploma as doctor of laws. Pale, but inexpressibly happy, he stood upon the threshold of the empress's cabinet, and awaited her permission to approach and kiss her beloved and honored hand.

Maria Theresa saw him and spoke not a word. She sat immovable in her arm-chair, darting lightning glances upon the unconscious counsellor, and growing every moment more enraged at the thought of his impertinent researches, until the storm burst with all its fury upon his head. The empress clutched the pamphlets which lay near her upon the table, and rising from her chair, strode through the room to the door where the unhappy author stood.

"Did you write these brochures?" asked she.

"Yes, your majesty," said Von Schrotter with a happy smile.

"Read the title-page."

Von Schrotter read: "The rights and measures of her imperial, royal, and apostolic majesty in reference to the Bavarian succession."

"Now read the title of your first pamphlet."

"Impartial thoughts on the various questions arising from the succession of Maximilian Joseph."

"You acknowledge the authorship of these two brochures?"

"I am proud to acknowledge them, your majesty."

"Whence it follows that you are proud to be the cause of the unholy war which now rages throughout Germany," said the empress in a voice of indignation. "It is you, then, whose pen has metamorphosed itself into a sword wherewith to take the lives of thousands of good and honest men! What right had you to publish impartial thoughts upon the Bavarian succession? I suppose you had an idea that in so doing, you were proving to the world what an important part you play in the affairs of the nation!"

"Your majesty," stammered Von Schrotter, utterly at a loss to understand his crime—"your majesty, through Prince Kaunitz, conveyed to me your entire satisfaction with my researches into the imperial archives, and the emperor himself requested me to write the second pamphlet."

"I am in no wise indebted to you for your complaisance," replied the empress; "for your ink has changed itself into blood, and your stupid vagaries, hatched in the comfortable quiet of your own room, have driven my poor soldiers from their homes, out into the pitiless storm of hardship, danger, and death. What right had you to meddle with the difficulties of the succession? Did you expect that, in gratitude for your valuable services to the crown, I would reward you with a title and an estate in Bavaria?"

"No, your majesty," replied Von Schrotter, blushing, I was but doing my duty as a jurist and civil officer of the crown."

"And do you suppose you have succeeded in proving any thing with your rubbish?" asked the empress, scornfully. "Do you imagine that any one word take the trouble to read your balderdash?"

"In defending the claims of the crown, I was performing an act of sacrred duty toward my country," replied Von Schrotter, emboldened to reply, by a just sense of the indignity offered him.

"Oh, yes, I know something of the vanity of authors," said the empress. "They imagine themselves to be Atlas, each one with the world upon his shoulders, which must certainly fall, if they are not there to uphold it. I, however, take the liberty of judging that if they were all to be blown to atoms, nobody would be the worse for their disappearance. What has come of your writings? A paper war of such dimensions, that I think the foul fiend must have plucked all the geese in Avernus, and have thrown their quills at your heads. What with your imbecile pens, nobody knows who is right!"

"But, your majesty, "remonstrated Von Schrotter, "discussion is indispensable to the discovery of truth, and as I am sure that I have contributed to this discovery, I cannot regret what I have done."

"Ah, indeed!" exclaimed the enraged empress. "You think you have contributed to the discovery of truth! I will tell you to what you have contributed, sir: you are the cause that the emperor became so headstrong on the subject, that sooner than give up Bavaria he has involved me in war; you are the cause that the whole world has had something to say on the subject of our claims; whereas, had you held your tongue, they might have passed for what they are not—just. You are the cause that my days are spent in sorrow, and my nights are sleepless; that in the despair of my heart, I have been reduced to write to a woman whom I despise! Yes, of all this you are the cause, and more than this—you will be guilty of my death; for I repeat to you that this war has broken my heart, and will be the last nail in my coffin. [Footnote: Maria Theresa's own words.] When my people, then, mourn for my death (and I hope that they will regret me), you may boast of having compassed it yourself; and from my grave I shall arise to—"

"No more, your majesty, no more! Spare me, in mercy," sobbed he, "if you would not see me die at your feet!"

"And I presume you would consider it a great misfortune for Austria if you were no longer able to unsheathe your goose-quill in her defence. There is no danger of your dying from the wounds inflicted by my tongue; but I am resolved that you shall carry their marks to the grave with you. This is all I had to say to you; you are dismissed."

"But, your majesty," replied Von Schrotter, "I have something to say—I must defend myself."

"You must defend yourself!" cried Maria Theresa, surveying him with a look of ineffable disdain. "Defend yourself to God—I am not disposed to listen to your defence."

"But, your majesty—"

"Peace!" thundered the empress. "Who dares speak when I have ordered him from my presence? Go home, and ponder my words."

So saying, she walked back to her seat. But seeing that Von Schrotter's lips were parted as if in an attempt to say something, she snatched her bell, and rang it so loud that in its clang his words were lost.

"Counsellor Von Schrotter is dismissed," said she to the page. "Open the doors, that he may pass."

Von Schrotter gasped out a convulsive sigh, and scarcely knowing what he did, turned one last sad look upon his cruel sovereign, and bowing his head, left the room.

When his tall, majestic form had disappeared from her sight, the empress said:

"Ah!—that outburst has done me good. And now that I have driven away humiliation by anger, I shall go and pray to God to bless the sacrifice I have made to-day for the good of my people."

She rang the bell, assembled her ladies of honor, and with them entered the private chapel which had lately been added to her own apartments. She knelt before the first prie-Dieu that presented itself, and her attendants knelt around her.

Whilst the empress was praying, Von Schrotter returned to the home, which an hour sooner, he had left with a heart so full of hope and ecstasy. He had not a word for his old house-keeper, who opened the door to admit him; and motioning away the servant who would have shown him into the dining-room, he ascended the staircase with slow, uncertain steps, his hands clinging to the balustrade, his head so heavy that he scarce could bear its weight. The servants stood below in sorrowful amazement. They had never seen their master so agitated in his life before; they could scarcely believe that this ghastly being was the dignified and stately man who had left them but an hour before. Suddenly they started, for surely they heard a loud laugh from the study, but what a laugh!—so wild, so unearthly, that it sounded like the dreadful mirth of a madman!—Then all was silent. Presently there came the sound of a heavy fall.

"That is our master! Some misfortune has befallen liim," cried the servants, hurrying up the stairs and bursting into the room. On the floor, surrounded by the books which had been the pride and solace of a harmless life, lay the counsellor weltering in his blood.

"He has broken a blood-vessel!" cried the house-keeper, with a sob, while the other servant ran for a physician. The old woman raised her dear master's head, and his bloody lips parted with a ghastly smile.

"This is the gratitude of princes!" murmured he almost inaudibly. "Such is the reward of him who loves his country!"

"What is it, my dear, dear master?" faltered the faithful servant, in vain seeking to penetrate the meaning of his words. "Why do you stare at me so horribly? What has distressed you?"

He moved as though he would have raised his head. "This is Austria's gratitude!" cried he in a loud voice; then, forth from his lips gurgled the purple stream of life, and his words died into hoarse, inaudible mutterings.

The physician came in, followed by the valet, and together they raised the sufferer and placed him upon his bed. The doctor then felt his pulse and his chest, and bent down to catch his breathings. He shook his head mournfully and called to the weeping servants.

"He is dying," said he. "Some fearful shock that he has received has induced a hemorrhage, which in a few hours will end his life."

Maria Theresa rose from her prayers, comforted and light of heart. And as she left the chapel, the man whom she had crushed to the earth by her unjust anger, drew his last sigh. [Footnote: This whole chapter is historical. Hormayer "Austrian Plutarch," vol. vi.]

CHAPTER CXXX.

FREDERICK THE GREAT.

King Frederick and his Prussians were still encamped at Wildschutz. His army was weary of inactivity, and every morning the longing eyes of his soldiers turned toward the little gray house at the end of the village where the king and his staff were quartered, vainly hoping to see their Fritz in the saddle, eager, bold, and daring as he had ever been until now. The men were destitute of every thing. Not only their food was exhausted, but their forage also. Bohemia had been plundered until nothing remained for man or beast. The inhabitants had fled to the interior, their villages and farms were a waste, and still the King of Prussia insisted that his army should subsist upon the enemy.

The men were in despair, and the officers began to apprehend a mutiny, for the former were surly, and no amount of conciliatory words could appease their hunger or feed their horses.

"We must see the king, we must speak to old Fritz!" cried the malcontents; and with this cry a crowd of artillerymen made their way to headquarters.

"We must see the king! Where is old Fritz? Has he ceased to care for his soldiers?" repeated the crowd.

"No, friends, I am ready to listen," said a soft voice, which, nevertheless, was heard above the din, and the king, clad in his well-known uniform, appeared at the window.

The soldiers received him with, a cheer, and at the sight of the well-beloved countenance, they forgot their need, and shouted for joy.

"What is it?" said Frederick, when the tumult had died away.

One of the men, as spokesman, stepped forward. "We wanted to see our old Fritz once more; we can scarcely believe that he sees our wants and yet will do nothing to relieve them." "You see mine," said Frederick, smiling, "and, as you perceive, I am scarcely better off than yourselves. Do you think this a fit residence for a king?"

"It is a dog-kennel!" cried the soldiers.

"And is that all you have to say to me?"

"No, sire, it is not. If our king can do nothing for us, at least let him rescue our horses from starvation. We are men, and our reason helps us to bear privations; but it is a sin to keep our horses here without food. We beseech your majesty, give us forage for our horses!" And the others repeated in chorus; "Forage, forage, give us forage for our horses!"

Meanwhile, the king had closed his window and had retired to the other end of his house. This made the soldiers frantic, and they screamed and shouted louder than ever

"Give us forage for our horses!"

Suddenly the voice which had so often led them to victory, was heard at the door

"Peace, you noisy rebels, peace, I say!"

And on the steps before his wretched cabin, stood Frederick, surrounded by the principal officers of his army.

"Sire," said one of the king's staff, "shall we disperse them?"

"Why-so?" replied Frederick, curtly. "Have my poor soldiers not the right to appeal to me for help? Speak, my children, speak without fear!" "Forage, sire, forage—our horses are dying like flies!"

"You see," said the king to his officers, "these poor fellows ask nothing for themselves. Why is it that they have no forage for their horses?"

"Sire," replied the officers, deprecatingly, "as long as there remained a hay-stack or a storehouse in this part of Bohemia, your majesty's army was fed by the enemy. But the country is stripped of every thing. The inhabitants themselves have been obliged to fly from starvation."

"Starvation!" echoed the king. "I will warrant that, while the horses of the privates are suffering for food, those of the officers are well provided."

"Your majesty!"

"Do not interrupt me, but let all the forage belonging to the chief officers of the army be brought at once, and placed before these men. They can wait here until it comes, and then divide it between them. Are you satisfied, my children?"

"Yes, yes," cried the men, shouting for joy at the prospect of the abundance about to be vouchsafed to them.

The officers, on the contrary, were deeply humiliated, and beheld the proceedings with gloomy discontent.

Frederick pretended not to perceive their dissatisfaction. He stood with his hat drawn down over his brows, leaning for support upon the crutch-cane which, of late, had been his inseparable companion.

Occasionally, when a soldier came up with his bundle of hay, the king glanced quickly around, and then looked down again. The artillerymen gradually ceased their noisy demonstrations, and now, with anxious, expectant faces, they looked at the king, the officers, and then at the very small amount of forage which was being placed before them.

Just then an adjutant bowed to the king, and announced that the last bundle of hay had been set before his majesty.

Frederick raised his eyes, and sadly contemplated the miserable little heap of forage which betokened with so much significance the destitution of his brave army.

"Is this all?" said he.

"Yes, sire, all—"

"It is well. Now," continued he to the artillerymen, "divide this between you. Had my officers been more selfish, your horses would have fared better. But you see that my generals and adjutants are as noble and self-sacrificing as yourselves; and unless you manage to forage for us all, we shall all starve together. I have called for this hay to prove to you that your officers were not revelling in plenty while you were suffering for want. Take it, and do not ask for that which I cannot give you."

The artillerymen looked almost ashamed of their clamor, while the faces of the officers brightened, and their eyes turned with love and admiration upon the man whose tact had so entirely justified them to their men.

The king pretended to see their delight as little as he had feigned to see their mortification. He seemed wholly absorbed watching the soldiers, who were now striving together as to who was to have the remnants of forage that was far from being enough to allow each man a bundle. [Footnote: Dohm's Memoirs, vol. i., p. 158.]

Finally Frederick withdrew to his cabin, and, once alone, he fell into the leathern arm-chair which was the only piece of furniture in the room besides a bed and a table.

"This will never do," thought he, sorrowfully. "We must either retreat or advance. This war is a miserable failure—the impotent effort of a shattered old man whose head is powerless to plan, and his hand to execute. How often since I entered upon this farcical campaign, have I repeated those words of Boileau:

`Malheureux, laisse en paix ton cheval vicillissant De peur quo tout a coup essoufle, sans haleine, Il ne laisse en tombant, son maitre sur l'arbne.' [Footnote: Frederick's own words.]

"Why did I undertake this war? Why had I not discretion enough to remain at home, and secure the happiness of my own people?"

The king sighed, and his head sank upon his breast. He sat thus for some time in deep discouragement; but presently he repeated to himself:

"Why did I undertake this war—why?" echoed he aloud. "For the honor and safety of Germany. How sorely soever war may press upon my age and infirmities, it is my duty to check the ambition of a house whose greed has no bounds, save those which are made for it by the resistance of another power as resolute as itself. I am, therefore, the champion of German liberties, and cannot, must not sheathe my sword. But this inactivity is demoralizing my army, and it must come to an end. We must retreat or advance—then let us advance!"

Here the king rang his bell. A valet entered, whom he ordered to go at once to the generals and staff-officers and bid them assemble at headquarters in fifteen minutes from that time.

"Gentlemen," said the king, "we cross the Elbe to-morrow."

At these words every countenance there grew bright, and every voice was raised in one long shout:

"Long live the king! Long live Frederick the Great!"

The king tried his best to look unmoved.

"Peace! peace! you silly, old fellows," said he. "What do you suppose the boys will do out there, if you raise such a clamor indoors? Do you approve of the move? Speak, General Keller."

"Sire, while out on a reconnaissance yesterday, I discovered a crossing where we may go safely over, without danger from the enemy's bullets."

"Good. Are you all of one mind?"

A long shout was the answer, and when it had subsided, the king smiled grimly and nodded his head.

"We are all of one mind, then. To-morrow we engage the enemy. And now to horse! We must reconnoitre the position which General Keller has chosen, and part of our troops must cross to-night."

CHAPTER CXXXI,

"THE DARKEST HOUR IS BEFORE DAY."

A few moments later the officers were mounted, and the king's horse stood before his door. Frederick, coming forward, with something of his youthful elasticity, tried to raise himself in the saddle; but he stopped, and with an expression of great suffering withdrew his foot from the stirrup.

The old hero had forgotten that the gout was holding him prisoner. His face flushed with disappointment, as he called his lackeys to his help. But once in the saddle, the king struck his spurs with such violence into his horse's flanks, that the animal leaped into the air, and bounded off in a swift gallop.

Whether Frederick had intended to prove to his officers that he was as bold a horseman as ever, or whether be had yielded to a momentary impulse of anger, he suffered keenly for his bravado; for at every bound of the horse, his agony increased. Finally he could endure no more. He came to a complete stand, and requested his suite to slacken their pace. They rode on in perfect silence, the officers casting stolen glances at the king, whose lips quivered, while his face grew every moment paler with suppressed anguish. But he bore it all without a sigh, until they had reached the point for which they started. Having accurately surveyed it, Frederick turned his horse's head, and rode back to his quarters.

This time he had not only to be lifted from his horse, but to be carried to his room. Once there, he signed to his attendants to leave him. He felt the imperious necessity of being alone with his afflicted mind and body. He leaned his head back, and murmured

"Malheureux, laisse en paux ton cheval vieillissant!"

Then, closing his eyes, he quoted the sacred Scriptures for the first time in his life without irreverent intention.

"The spirit is willing," sighed the wretched unbeliever, "but the flesh is weak."

He remained pondering over those truthful words for several moments; then casting his eyes over the various objects that lay upon his table, they lit upon the little leather-covered box, which contained his flute. For some time past his perplexities had been so great that he had held no intercourse with this object of his life-long affection; but now he felt as if its tones would be consolatory. And with trembling, eager hands he unfastened the case, and raised the instrument to his lips. But alas! the flute, like its adorer, was superannuated. Wearily came its feeble notes upon the air, each one hoarse as the wind whistling through a ruined abbey. [Footnote: It was during the war of the Bavarian Succession that Frederick found himself compelled to give up the flute. His embouchure had been destroyed by the loss of his front teeth, and his hands trembled so that he could scarcely hold the instrument.]

Frederick had played but a few bars of his adagio when his hands fell slowly, and the flute rolled upon the table. He contemplated it for awhile, then his eyes filled with tears, which fell rapidly down his cheeks. A mournful smile flickered over his countenance.

"Well," said he, in a low voice, "I suppose there is nothing disgraceful in the tears of an old man over the last, faithful friend of his youth."

With these words he replaced the flute in the case, and locked it, murmuring:

"Farewell, forever, my life-long solace!"

Just then, a thousand voices shouted:

"Long live the king! Long live old Fritz!"

"They are rejoicing over the approaching battle," thought Frederick. "But their hopes, like mine, are destined to be crushed. Instead of crossing the Elbe, we must retire to Silesia. Old age has vanquished me—and from such a defeat no man can ever rally.

"Well, well! We must take the world as it comes, and if I can neither light nor play on the flute, I can still talk and write. My eulogy on Voltaire is not yet completed—I must finish it to-day, that it may be read before the Academy at Berlin, on the anniversary of his death." [Footnote: Voltaire died in May, 1779 and Frederick, while in camp in Bohemia, wrote a poem on his death.]

Selecting from among his papers the manuscript he wanted, Frederick took up his pen and began to write.

Gradually the songs and shouts of the soldiers ceased, and the king was consoling himself for the loss of music by flinging himself into the arms of poetry, when a knock was heard at his door, and his valet announced the secretary of Count Gallitzin.

Frederick's heart throbbed with joy, and his great eagle eyes were so strangely lit up, that the valet could not imagine what had caused such an illumination of his royal master's features.

"Thugut," cried the king; "is Thugut here again? Admit him immediately."

By the time that Baron Thugut had appeared at the door, Frederick had so forced down his joy, that he received the envoy of the empress-queen with creditable indifference.

"Well, baron," said he, with a careless nod, "you come again. When the foul fiend comes for the third time, he must either bag a man's soul, or give it up forever."

"I feel flattered, sire, by the comparison your majesty makes of me to so great and powerful a potentate," replied the baron, laughing.

"You believe in the devil, then, although you deny the Lord."

"Certainly, sire, for I have never yet seen a trace of the one, and the other I meet everywhere."

"For an ambassador of Maria Theresa, your opinions are tolerably heterodox," said Frederick. "But tell me what brings you hither? You must not expect me to continue our interrupted negotiations. If the empress-queen sends you to claim ever so small a portion of Bavaria, I tell you, beforehand, that it is useless to say a word. Austria must renounce her pretensions or continue the war."

"Sire, I come with new propositions. Here are my credentials, if your majesty is at leisure to examine them, and here is a letter from the hand of my revered sovereign."

"And what is that?" asked Frederick, pointing to a roll of papers, tied up with twine.

"Those are my documents, together with the papers relating to the past negotiations."

"I think that I have already refused to go over these negotiations," said Frederick, sharply; and without further ceremony, he broke the seal of the empress's letter. While the king read, Thugut busied himself untying his roll and spreading his papers out upon the table.

"This is nothing but a letter of credentials," observed the king, putting it down. "The empress refers me to you for verbal explanations. I am ready to hear them."

"Sire, the empress-queen, animated by a heartfelt desire to restore peace to Germany, has called upon France and Russia to settle the difficulties which, to her sincere regret, have arisen between herself and your majesty. These two powers, having responded favorably to my sovereign's request—"

"Say, rather," interrupted Frederick, "that these two powers having given to her majesty of Austria the somewhat peremptory advice to relinquish her pretensions to Bavaria—"

Baron Thugut bowed, and resumed: "That the two powers may have the opportunity of conducting their negotiations without any new complications from military movements, her majesty, the empress, proposes an armistice, to begin from to-day."

Up to this moment the king's eyes had been fixed upon Thugut; but as he heard these few last words, he dropped them suddenly. He was so overjoyed, that he was afraid to betray his raptures to the diplomatist. He recovered himself in time. "Did you come through my camp?" said he to the baron.

"Yes, sire."

"You heard the, shouts and songs of my brave Prussians. Were you told that I intend to cross the Elbe, and offer battle to your emperor to-morrow?"

"Yes, sire, I was told so."

"And at the very moment when I am prepared to fight, you come to me with proposals of armistice! You perceive that I could only be brought to consent to a truce through my consideration for the empress, provided she offered sound guaranties for the conclusion of an honorable peace. Let us hear your proposals."

The interview between the king and the secret envoy of the empress was long and animated. When the latter was about to take leave, Frederick nodded condescendingly, saying:

"Well! I consent to make this sacrifice to the wishes of the empress. You can inform her, that instead of giving battle to the emperor, as I had hoped to do on the morrow, I shall retreat to Silesia, and retire into winter quarters."

"And your majesty promises equitable conditions, and will consult with the Russian ambassador?"

"I promise, and the empress-queen may rely upon me. Farewell." The envoy turned to depart, but before he reached the door the king called him back.

"Baron," said he with a significant smile, "you have forgotten something." Here he pointed to the twine which had fallen on the floor, and lay near the baron's chair. "Take what belongs to you; I never enrich myself with the possessions of others."

When the door closed, the king raised his eyes to heaven. "Is it chance, or Providence, that has succored me to-day?" thought he. "Which of the two has vouchsafed me such honorable deliverance in my extremity?"

CHAPTER CXXXII.

THE EMPEROR AND HIS MOTHER.

It was a day of double rejoicing in Vienna, at once the celebration of peace, and of Maria Theresa's sixty-second birthday. For three months the seven envoys of Austria, Prussia, Russia, France, Bavaria, Zweibrucken, and Saxony, had been disentangling the threads of the Bavarian succession. For three months Joseph had hoped and prayed that the debates of the peace congress might come to naught, and its deliberations engender a veritable war. But he was destined to new disappointment. The love of peace had prevailed. Austria had renounced all her inheritance in Bavaria, save the Innviertel, and had declared her treaty with Charles Theodore to be null and void.

The people of Vienna were overjoyed. They, like their empress, preferred peace to increase of domain; and they hastened to offer her their sincerest congratulations. All the European ambassadors were in full uniform, and Maria Theresa was seated on a throne, in all her imperial regalia.

She was radiant with smiles, and happiness flashed from her still bright eyes; but on this day of rejoicing there was one void that pained the empress—it was the absence of her eldest son. Since his return to Vienna, three months before, there had never yet been a word of explanation between Joseph and his mother. He had studiously avoided being alone with her, had never made his appearance in council, and when documents had been presented to him for signature, he had no sooner perceived the sign-manual of the empress, than he had added his own without examination or comment.

It was this cold submission which tortured the heart of Maria Theresa. She would have preferred recrimination to such compliance as this; it seemed so like aversion, so like despair!

When the ceremonies of the day were over, the empress sent a messenger to request the presence of her son, in her own private apartments. The messenger returned, and a few moments after, was followed by the emperor.

He entered the room, and his mother came eagerly forward, her two hands outstretched to greet him. "Thank you, my dearest child," said she, affectionately, "for coming so promptly at my request. My heart has been yearning for my son, and I have longed all day to see my co-regent and emperor at my side."

She still held out her hands, but Joseph, affecting not to see them, bowed with grave ceremony. "I am neither emperor nor co-regent," replied he; "I am but the son and subject of the empress, and as such I have already congratulated your majesty with the rest."

"Were your congratulations for my birthday, or for the restoration of peace, my son?"

"The birthday of my empress is, above all others, a day of gratulation for you," replied Joseph, evasively.

"Then peace is not agreeable to you?"

"Pardon me, I have every reason to be satisfied. Have we not exchanged
compliments with all the powers of Europe, and have not the people of
Vienna sung ninety-nine thousand TE DEUMS in honor of the peace of
Teschen?" [Footnote: Joseph's own words.]

"I see that you do not approve of it, Joseph," said the empress, who was anxious to come to an understanding on the subject.

"I was under the impression that I had signed all your majesty's acts without giving any trouble whatever," was the cold reply.

"But you did it unwillingly, I fear, and thought of your mother as a weak and timid old woman. Is it not so, my son?"

"When I signed the treaty I thought of my ancestor, Charles V. After a disastrous campaign in Africa, he was obliged to return with his fleet to Spain. He sailed, it is true, but he was the last man to go on board. So with me—I signed the articles of peace, but was the last one who signed." [Footnote: Ibid.]

"Have you nothing more to say on the subject? Are you not glad that there is to be no bloodshed?"

"A son and subject has no right to sit in judgment upon the actions of his mother and empress."

"But you are more than a subject, you are an emperor."

"No, your majesty; I am like the Venetian generals. In war, they commanded the armies, and received their salaries from the republic. When their campaigns were over, their pensions were paid and they sank back into obscurity."

"Oh, my son, these are hard and bitter words," exclaimed the empress, pressing her hands upon her heart. "I see plainly that you are displeased because I have exchanged a doubtful war for an honorable peace."

"I am not so presuming as to be displeased with your majesty's acts, and if you have obtained an honorable peace, I wish you joy of it."

Maria Theresa sighed heavily. "I perceive," said she, disconsolately, "that you are resolved not to let me see into your heart."

"Oh, your majesty," cried Joseph, with a bitter smile, "I have no heart. Where my heart once was, there stands an open grave, and, one by one, my hopes have all been buried there."

"I think it strange that the future Emperor of Austria should speak of buried hopes."

"I said nothing of an emperor, your majesty, I spoke of poor Joseph of Hapsburg and of his personal wishes. As regards the future emperor, he of course has many hopes for Austria. First among them is the wish that the epoch of his reign may be very far off! Second, is his desire to serve his country. As we are now to enjoy the blessings of peace, and I am on the list of your majesty's pensioned officers, I should like, if it do not conflict with your views, to receive an appointment as minister to some foreign power."

"Oh," exclaimed Maria Theresa, sorrowfully, "would you leave me so soon again?"

"Yes, your majesty, I desire a long leave of absence."

"Whither would you then journey, my dear child?"

"I desire to visit the Empress Catharine."

"The Empress Catharine!" echoed Maria Theresa, starting and coloring violently. "You would visit that woman?"

"Yes, your majesty. I would visit that woman as Baron Thugut did the King of Prussia; with this exception, that I do not go secretly—I first consult your majesty."

Maria Theresa would not notice this thrust of her son. She contented herself with replying: "What object can you have in going on a mission to Russia?"

"I propose to win the friendship of the empress."

"The friendship of that degraded woman! I do not covet it."

"And yet your majesty was the first to request her mediation in our affairs with Germany. As you have raised the foul fiend, and he has come at your call, you must abide the consequences, and accept him as a friend. Since Russia is to have a voice in German politics, it is better that she speak for us, than sustain our enemy, Prussia."

"But she has long been the ally of Prussia," objected the empress.

"So much the more incumbent is it upon us to disturb the alliance. To do this, is the purpose of my journey to Russia. I repeat my request for your majesty's consent."

For some moments Maria Theresa contemplated her son with inexpressible tenderness. At length she said with a sigh, "You really desire, then, to go to Russia?"

"Such is my wish, your majesty."

"Well, my child, since you desire it, I consent; but I do it unwillingly. I wish to prove to my son how gladly I gratify him, when I can do so without conflicting with my duties as a sovereign."

The emperor bowed, but spoke not a word. Maria Theresa sighed again, and an expression of deep pain crossed her face.

"When do you expect to start?" said she, sadly.

"As soon as possible; for if I am not mistaken, the time is now propitious for stepping in between Prussia and her beloved ally."

"Then I am to lose my dear son at once?" asked the mother, with tearful eyes. "I fear he leaves me without a pang; and will seldom bestow a thought upon the mother whose anxious heart follows his every movement with love."

"I shall bestow my thoughts upon my sovereign, and remember that I am pledged to obtain for her a powerful ally. But I have much to do before I start. Above all things I must see Prince Kaunitz. I beg therefore of your majesty the permission to retire."

"As the emperor pleases," said Maria Theresa, with quivering lip.

Joseph bowed, and without a word or look at his mother's sorrowing countenance, turned toward the door. Up to this moment the empress had controlled her distress, but she could master her grief no longer. She looked at the emperor with dimmed eyes and throbbing heart; and in the extremity of her maternal anguish, she cried out,

"Oh, my son, my precious boy!"

The emperor, who was opening the door, turned around. He saw his mother, her tears falling like rain, standing close by with outstretched arms. But he did not respond to the appeal. With another ceremonious bow, he said, "I take leave of your majesty." and closed the door behind him.

Maria Theresa uttered aloud cry and sank to the floor. "Oh," sobbed she,
"I am a poor, desolate mother. My child loves me no longer!"

CHAPTER CXXXIII.

PRINCE POTEMKIN.

Prince Potemkin was just out of bed. In front of him, two pages, richly dressed, bowed down to the floor as they opened the door for him to pass into his cabinet. Behind him, two more pages held up the train of his velvet dressing-gown, which, all bedecked with jewels, came trailing behind his tall, graceful figure. Behind the pages were four valets with breakfast and Turkish pipes.

And in this wise Prince Potemkin entered his cabinet. He threw himself upon an ottoman covered with India cashmere shawls, and received from a kneeling page a cup of chocolate, which was handed to his highness upon a gold waiter set with pearls. Then, as if the cup had been too troublesome to hold, he replaced it on the waiter, and ordered the page to pour the chocolate down.

The page, apparently, was accustomed to the order, for he rose briskly from his knees, and approaching the cup to Potemkin's lips, allowed the chocolate to trickle slowly down his princely throat. Meanwhile the three pages, four valets, and six officers, who had been awaiting him in his cabinet, stood around in stiff, military attitudes, each one uncomfortably conscious that he was momentarily exposed to the possible displeasure of the mighty favorite of the mighty Czarina.

Potemkin, meanwhile, vouchsafed not a look at any one of them. After he had sipped his chocolate, and the page had dried his mouth with an embroidered napkin, he opened his lips. The valet whose duty it was to present it, stepped forward with the Turkish pipe, and depositing its magnificent golden bowl upon the Persian carpet by the ottoman, placed the amber mouth-piece between the lips of his master.

Again a dead silence; and again those stiff forms stood reverentially around, while Potemkin, with an air of ennui and satiety, watched the blue wreaths that rose from his pipe to the ceiling.

"What o'clock is it?" asked he moodily.

"Mid-day, your highness," was the prompt reply.

"How many people in the anteroom?"

"A multitude of nobles, generals, and lesser petitioners, all awaiting your highness's appearance."

"How long have they been there?"

"Three hours, your highness."

His highness went on smoking, impelled probably by the reflection that three hours was too short a time for the court of Russia to wait for the ineffable blessing of his presence.

After a while he became weary of the pipe, and raised his head. Three valets rushed forward, each with an embroidered suit, to inquire whether his highness would wear the uniform of a field-marshal, that of a lord-chamberlain, or the magnificent costume of a Russian prince. Potemkin waved them off, and rose from the ottoman. His long brown hair, which flowed like the mane of a lion around his handsome face, bore here and there the traces of the down pillow upon which he had slept; his open dressing-gown exposed to view his slovenly undergarments; and his pearl-embroidered slippers were worn over a pair of soiled stockings which, hanging loosely around his legs, revealed his powerful and well-shaped calves.

In this neglige, Potemkin approached the door of his anteroom. As soon as he had been announced, a hundred weary faces grew bright with expectation; and princes, dukes, and nobles bowed before the haughty man who was even mightier than the empress; for HE bent before no mortal, while she was the slave of one will—of Potemkin's.

Silent and disdainful, Potemkin walked through the lines of obsequious courtiers that fell back as he passed, here and there condescending to greet some nobleman of wealth or influence. As for the others who raised their imploring eyes to his, he affected not to know of their insignificant presence, and returned to his cabinet without having vouchsafed a word to anybody.

"Is the jeweller there?" asked he of the officer at the door, and as the latter bowed his head, Potemkin added, "Admit him, and after him the minister of police."

With these words he passed into his cabinet, and his valets began to dress him. While his long mane was being combed into order, Potemkin amused himself playing like a juggler with three little golden balls, while the pale and trembling jeweller stood wondering what new robbery awaited him now.

"Ah, Artankopf, you are there?" said the prince, when his toilet had been completed. "I have an order for you."

The jeweller made a salam, and muttered some unintelligible words of which Potemkin took no notice.

"I saw a magnificent service of gold yesterday in your showcase."

"It is an order, your highness," said Artankopf, quickly.

"Then I cannot buy it?"

"Impossible, your highness."

"Then I order one exactly like it, above all in weight. The statuettes which ornament that service are exquisitely moulded. How much gold is there in it?"

"Sixty thousand rubles, your highness."

Potemkin's eyes sparkled. "A considerable sum," said he, stroking his mane. "I order two services of the same value. Do you hear? They must be ready on this day week."

"And the payment?" Artankopf ventured to inquire.

"I shall pay you in advance," replied Potemkin, with a laugh. "I appoint you first court-jeweller to the empress."

The jeweller did not appear to appreciate the mode of payment; he seemed terrified.

"Oh, your highness," said he, trembling, "I implore you not to make such fearful jests. I am the father of a large family, and if you exact of me to furnish you a service worth a fortune, the outlay for the gold alone will ruin me."

"You will be irretrievably ruined if you do not furnish it," laughed
Potemkin, while he went on throwing his balls and catching them "If
those two services are not here on the day you take a journey to
Siberia, friend Artankopf."

"I will be punctual, your highness," sighed the jeweller. "But the payment—I must buy the gold."

"The payment! What, the devil—you are not paid by the appointment I give you! Go: and if you venture to murmur, think of Siberia, and that will cure your grief."

With a wave of his hand, Potemkin dismissed the unhappy jeweller, who left that princely den of extortion a broken-hearted, ruined man.

The robber, meanwhile, was counting his gains and donning his field-marshal's uniform. "One hundred and twenty thousand rubles' worth of gold!" said he to himself. "I'll have the things melted into coin—it is more portable than plate."

The door opened, and Narischkin, the minister of police, entered.

"Out, the whole gang of you!" cried Potemkin; and there was a simultaneous exodus of officers, pages, and valets. When the heavy, gold-bordered silken portiere had fallen, the tyrant spoke.

"Now let us hear your report," said he, seating himself before his toilet-mirror, where first he cleaned his dazzling white teeth, and then pared his nails.

The minister of police, in an attitude of profound respect, began to go over the occurrences of the past two days in St. Petersburg.

Potemkin listened with an occasional yawn, and finally interrupted him. "You are an old fool. What do I care for your burglars and bankrupts! You have not so much as a murder to relate to me. Can you not guess that there are other things of which I wish to hear?"

"Doubtless your highness wishes me to report the doings of the Emperor of Austria."

"You are not quite such a dunce, then, as you seem to be. Well, what has the emperor been about these two days past?"

"He leads the same life as he did in Moscow," said Narischkin. "He goes about as Count Falkenstein."

"He comes as his own ambassador," cried Potemkin, laughing, "and he could not have chosen a worse one than Count Falkenstein. [Footnote: Potemkin's own words.] What a wretched country Austria must be when its emperor travels about like an ordinary Russian gentleman!"

"He arrived in St. Petersburg with one servant carrying his portmanteau, and engaged two rooms at a hotel."

"Oh, yes. I have heard of his passion for living at hotels. It all proceeds from avarice. Were he the guest of the empress, he would be obliged to make some imperial presents here and there. When our great czarina invited him to Sarskoe-Selo, he accepted, on condition that he should be allowed to lodge at an inn. Now there happens to be no inn at Sarskoe-Selo; so the imperial gardener has hung out a sign, and the little Count of Falkenstein is to take up his lodging with him. He never will be the wiser, and will fancy himself at an inn. So that in trifles, as in matters of state, the czarina shall befool Austria, and lead him by the nose. Tell me something more of his eccentricities. Have you dazzled him with a sight of our wealth?"

"He is not to be dazzled, your highness. Even the homage he has received seems to give him no pleasure."

"Ah! Has he, then, been the object of so much consideration?"

"Her majesty ordered it, and she has even devised some delicate compliments wherewith to surprise him."

"Ah!—she seems to be inclined toward this little emperor," muttered Potemkin. "She indulges in fanciful projects of aggrandizement with him, and forgets—Well—what were the surprises which the czarina prepared for his countship?"

"Day before yesterday, he visited the Academy of Sciences. An atlas was presented to him; and when he opened it, he found a map of his own journey from Vienna to St. Petersburg, with engravings illustrating the various details of the journey." [Footnote: Theodore Mundl, "Conflicts for the Black Sea," p. 141]

"Pretty good," sneered Potemkin, "but unfortunately not original, for the little count received a similar compliment in Paris. Go on."

"Then the emperor visited the Academy of Arts, and there he found a portfolio of engravings, among which was an excellent portrait of himself with this inscription: 'Multorum providus urbes et mores honaivum inspexit.'"

"Who wrote the inscription?" asked Potemkin, hastily.

"Her majesty's self," replied Narischkin, with a deep inclination at the name. "But the emperor greets every thing with a quiet smile. When he visited the mint and saw the enormous piles of bullion there, he merely said: 'Have you always as much silver in the mint as there is to-day?'"

Potemkin laughed aloud. "That was a sly question, and shows that little Falkenstein has been peeping behind the scenes and has discovered that we were prepared for his coming."

"Yes, your highness. It would appear that Count Falkenstein does not quite believe in our enormous wealth; for after seeing the mint, he put on that mocking smile of his, and asked whether the Imperial Bank was in a condition to redeem its issue."

"What was the answer?"

"'Yes,' of course, your highness."

"It was a masterpiece of effrontery then, and I shall take the opportunity of testing its truth. Go to the bank, Narischkin, and say that I need one hundred thousand rubles for an entertainment I propose to give to the czarina. I must have it in coin. Quick—begone."

"I fly, your highness, but first be so kind as to give me the imperial order. You well know that no coin can leave the bank without the signature of the empress."

"I should like to see whether they will dare to return MY signature," cried Potemkin, fiercely.

He wrote the order, and handing it to Narischkin, said: "Take this to the bank directors; and if they ask for the signature of the empress, tell them she will send it to-morrow, but I must have the money to-day."

Narischkin bowed lower than he had ever been seen to do toward the son of the empress himself, and left the room on reverential tiptoes.

CHAPTER CXXXIV.

THE PRUSSIAN AMBASSADOR.

When Potemkin felt himself quite alone, he leaned back in his arm-chair with an ugly frown.

"Something is going on to my disadvantage here," muttered he. "I saw it yesterday in Panin's exulting countenance.. How I hate that man! Almost as much as I do Orloff! It is a blessing for me that both are not here to plot together. Singly, I do not fear them; but together—Orloff is the loaded cannon, and Panin the lighted match, and if I am not wary—"

Here, as though he had felt the shock of the ball, Potemkin sprang from his seat, and swung his hands above his head. But presently he sank back into his chair, and continued his meditations. "I must spike Orloff before he destroys me. But to spike a cannon, one must be able to reach it; and Orloff is far away on his estates, like a spider in her wicked web. Oh, if I could but reach it, I would soon tear it to pieces! But where are its threads? How shall I find them?—Panin, too, is getting intimate with the grand duke, and so, is currying favor with the empress. Yesterday when I entered the parlor without saluting him, Paul called after me with an oath, and turned to his mother with a complaint of my insolence. And the empress did not utter one word of reproof, although she saw me near enough to hear. That is significant—it means that Catharine fears me no longer. But, by the eternal God! she shall learn that she has a master, and that her master is Potemkin!

"How dare she take Panin into her confidence? He it is who inclines her to the King of Prussia. This fancy for Prussia is the only thing she has in common with the grand duke. Love of Frederick is the bridge which Panin has built to unite them. I must try to lead her into another road of policy, and so remove Orloff and Panin. Orloff hates Austria, and if—pshaw! Why is that Joseph so niggardly that one cannot feel the slightest interest in him? If after refusing all other invitations he had paid me the compliment of accepting mine—but, no!—this haughty Austrian treats me with as little consideration as be does the rest of the world; and forces me, in spite of myself, to the side of Frederick. But there I find Orloff and Panin, and we cannot work together. They must be disgraced, and Catharine made to follow me. How shall I commence? What shall I do?"

A knock at the door put an end to his communings.

"His excellency the Count von Gortz, ambassador of his majesty the King of Prussia," said the officer, who announced the visitors of Potemkin.

"Show his excellency into the little parlor," said the latter, carelessly, "and tell him that I will receive him there."

"Ah!—Count von Gortz," thought Potemkin. "That signifies that my enemies have not yet triumphed, and that the King of Prussia thinks me powerful enough to conciliate. Well—I must have time for reflection."

And without the slightest regard to the station of his visitor, Potemkin sat for half an hour, revolving in his mind what sort of reception he should give to Frederick's overtures. In spite of the slight, Count von Gortz came forward with a gracious smile, as Potemkin, slightly nodding, passed on to a seat, and waved his hand for the count to take another.

"I am commissioned by my sovereign, the King of Prussia, to request an interview of your highness," began Von Gortz.

Potemkin nodded, but said nothing.

"His majesty has intrusted me with a most flattering commission," continued the ambassador.

"Let us hear it," replied Potemkin, with indifference.

Count von Gortz bowed, rose, and drew from his bosom a rich velvet etui which he handed to the prince.

"His majesty, my august sovereign, in acknowledgment of your highness's great and glorious deeds, wishes to convey to you a token of his admiration and friendship," said Count von Gortz, solemnly. "He has bestowed upon your highness the order of the Black Eagle, and I have the Honor to present it to you with the insignia."

Potemkin took the etui and without opening it laid it on the table beside him. "Ah," said he, with a shrug, "his majesty sends me the Black Eagle. I am much obliged to him, but really I have so many orders that I have nowhere left to wear them, and how to dispose of this new one I scarcely know. See for yourself," continued he smiling, and pointing to his breast, which indeed was covered with crosses, "do I not look like a vender of orders, carrying about his samples?" [Footnote: All Potemkin's own words. Dohm's Memoirs. vol. i., p 4l3]

"If I may be allowed to use your excellency's words, you carry about samples, not only of your treasures, but of your heroism and statesmanship. It would be a pity if among them, you should not wear a decoration of my august sovereign."

"Very well, then, to oblige the King of Prussia, I will wear the cross, and, I beg you return him my thanks. Have you anything more to say, count?"

Count von Gortz cast a searching glance around the apartment, especially upon the heavy velvet window-curtains.

"Get up and look for yourself, if you suspect the presence of any body, "said the prince.