The king rapidly walked through the rooms and across the hall, separating his own apartments from those of the queen. He had scarcely entered his cabinet, when he opened the door of the ante-room, and exclaimed:
“Pray, come in, my dear Kockeritz.”
A corpulent little gentleman, about fifty years of age, with a kind, good-natured face, small, vivacious eyes, denoting an excellent heart, but little ability, and large, broad lips, which never perhaps had uttered profound truths, but assuredly many pleasant jests, immediately appeared on the threshold.
While he was bowing respectfully, the king extended his hand to him.
“You have received my letter, my friend?” he asked.
“Yes, your majesty. I received it yesterday, and I have been studying it all night.”
“And what are you going to reply to me?” asked the king, quickly. “Are you ready to accept the position I have tendered to you? Will you become my conscientious and impartial adviser—my true and devoted friend?”
“Your majesty,” said the lieutenant-colonel, sighing, “I am afraid your majesty has too good an opinion of my abilities. When I read your truly sublime letter, my heart shuddered, and I said to myself, ‘The king is mistaken about you. To fill the position he is offering to you, he needs a man of the highest ability and wisdom. The king has confounded your heart with your head.’ Yes, your majesty, my heart is in the right place; it is brave, bold, and faithful, but my head lacks wisdom and knowledge. I am not a learned man, your majesty.”
“But you are a man of good common sense and excellent judgment, and that is worth more to me than profound learning,” exclaimed the king. “I have observed you for years, and these extended observations have confirmed my conviction more and more that I was possessing in you a man who would be able one day to render me the most important services by his straightforwardness, his unerring judgment, his firm character, and well-tried honesty. I have a perfect right to trust you implicitly. I am a young man, as yet too ignorant of the world to rely exclusively upon myself, and not to fear lest dishonest men, in spite of the most earnest precautions, should deceive me. Hence every well-meant advice must be exceedingly welcome to me, and such advice I can expect at your hands. I pray you, sir, remain my friend, do not change your bearing toward me, become my adviser. [Footnote: Vide “A letter to Lieutenant-Colonel von Kockeritz, by Frederick William III.”] Kockeritz, will you reject my request?”
“No,” exclaimed Herr von Kockeritz; “if that is all your majesty asks of me, I can promise it and fulfil my promise. Your majesty shall always find me to be a faithful, devoted, and honest servant.”
“I ask more than that,” said the king, gently. “Not only a faithful servant, but a devoted FRIEND—a friend who will call my attention to my short-comings and errors. Assist me with your knowledge of men and human nature. For nobody is more liable to make mistakes in judging of men than a prince, and it cannot be otherwise. To a prince no one shows himself in his true character. Every one tries to fathom the weaknesses and inclinations of rulers—and then assumes such a mask as seems best calculated to accomplish his purposes. Hence, I expect you to look around quietly, without betraying your intentions, for honest and sagacious men, and to find out what positions they are able to fill in the most creditable manner.” [Footnote: Ibid.]
“I shall take pains, your majesty, to discover such men,” said Herr von Kockeritz, gravely. “It seems to me, however, sire, that fortunately you have got many able and excellent men close at hand, and for that reason need not look very far for other assistants.”
“To whom do you allude?” exclaimed the king, sharply, and with a slight frown.
Herr von Kockeritz cast a rapid glance upon the king’s countenance and seemed to have read his thoughts upon his clouded brow.
“Your majesty,” he said, gravely and slowly, “I do not mean to say any thing against Wollner, the minister, and his two counsellors, Hermes and Hiller, nor against Lieutenant-General von Bischofswerder.”
The frown had already disappeared from the king’s brow. Stepping up to his desk, he seized a piece of paper there, which he handed to his friend.
“Just read that paper, and tell me what to do about it.”
“Ah, Lieutenant-General von Bischofswerder has sent in his resignation!” exclaimed Herr von Kockeritz, when he had read the paper. “Well, I must confess that the general has a very fine nose, and that he acted most prudently.”
“You believe, then, I would have dismissed him anyhow?”
“Yes, I believe so, your majesty.”
“And you are right, Kockeritz. This gloomy and bigoted man has done a great deal of mischief in Prussia, and the genius of our country had veiled his head and fled before the spirits which Bischofswerder had called up. Oh, my friend, we have passed through a gloomy, disastrous period, and seen many evil spirits here, and been tormented by them. But not another word about it: It does not behoove me to judge the past, for it does not belong to me. Only the future is mine; and God grant when it has, in turn, become the past, that it may not judge ME! Lieutenant-General von Bischofswerder was the friend and confidant of my lamented father, the king, and in that capacity I must and will honor him. I shall accept his resignation, but grant him an ample pension.”
“That resolution is highly honorable to your majesty’s heart,” exclaimed Herr von Kockeritz, feelingly.
“As to Minister Wollner,” said the king, frowning, “in respectful remembrance of my lamented father’s partiality for him, I shall not at once dismiss him, but leave it to himself to send in his resignation. Let him see if he will be able to reconcile himself to the new era, for a new era, I hope, is to dawn for Prussia—an era of toleration, enlightenment and true piety, that does not seek faction in mere lip-service and church-going, but in good and pious deeds. Religion is not an offspring of the church, but the reverse is true; the church is an offspring of religion, and the church therefore, ought to be subordinate to religion, and never try to place itself above it. Henceforth there shall be no more compulsion in matters of faith, and all fanatical persecutions shall cease. I honor religion myself; I devoutly follow its blessed precepts, and under no circumstances would I be the ruler of a people devoid of religion. But I know that religion always must remain a matter of the heart and of personal conviction, and if it is to promote virtue and righteousness, it must not, by a mere methodical constraint, be degraded to an empty and thoughtless ritualism. Hereafter Lutheran principles shall be strictly adhered to in religious affairs, for they are entirely in harmony with the spirit and Founder of our religion. No compulsory laws are necessary to maintain true religion in the country and to increase its salutary influence upon the happiness and morality of all classes of the people. [Footnote: Vide “Menael’s Twenty Years of Prussian History,” p. 534.] These, I am afraid, are principles which Minister Wollner cannot adopt; and if he is an honest man, he will consequently send in his resignation. If he should not do so in the course of a few weeks, of course I shall dismiss him. You see, Kockeritz, I am speaking to you frankly and unreservedly, as if you were a true friend of mine, and I am treating you already as my adviser. Now tell me who are the men of whom you wished to speak, and whom you believe to be able and reliable.”
The face of Herr von Kockeritz assumed an embarrassed and anxious air, but the king was waiting for an answer, and therefore he could not withhold it any longer.
“Well, your majesty,” he said, somewhat hesitatingly, “I alluded to the minister of foreign affairs, Herr von Haugwitz, whom I believe to be an honest man, while I am equally satisfied that his first assistant, Lombard, is a man of excellent business qualifications and great ability.”
The king nodded his assent. “I am entirely of your opinion,” he said; “Minister von Haugwitz is not only an honest man, but an able-minded and skilful diplomatist, and an experienced statesman. I stand in need of his experience and knowledge, and as I moreover believe him to be a good patriot, he may remain at the head of his department.”
A gleam of joy burst from the eyes of Herr von Kockeritz, but he quickly lowered them, in order not to betray his feelings.
“As to Lombard,” said the king, “you are likewise right; he is an excellent and most able man, though a little tinctured with Jacobinism. His French blood infects him with all sorts of democratic notions. I wish he would get rid of them, and I shall assist him in doing so, in case he should prove to be the man I take him for. His position is too exalted and important that I should not deem it desirable to see him occupy a place in society in accordance with the old established rules. I want him to apply for letters of nobility. I shall grant the application at once. Please, tell him so.”
Herr von Kockeritz bowed silently.
“Is there anybody else whom you wish to recommend to me?” asked the king with an inquiring glance.
“Your majesty,” said Kockeritz, “I do not know of anybody else. But I am sure your majesty will always find the right man for the right place. Even in my case, I trust, your majesty has done so, for if it is of importance for you to have a faithful and devoted servant close to your person, who values nothing in the world so greatly, who loves nothing so fervently, and adores nothing so much as his young king, then I am the right man, and in this regard I do not acknowledge any superior. And further, if it be of importance that your majesty should at all times hear the truth, then I am the right man again, for I hate falsehood, and how should I, therefore, ever be false toward your majesty, inasmuch as I love your majesty?”
“I believe you, I believe you,” exclaimed the king, taking the lieutenant-colonel by the hand. “You love me and are an honest man; I shall, therefore, always hear the truth from you. But you shall inform yourself also of the state of public opinion concerning myself and my government, weigh the judgment passed on me and my counsellors, and if you believe it to be correct, then discuss it with men whom you know to be impartial and able to speak understandingly of the matter. Having thus ascertained public opinion and familiarized yourself with every thing, I expect you to lay the matter before me and tell me your opinion firmly and unreservedly. I shall never question your good intentions, but always endeavor to profit by your advice. And I shall now directly give you a trial. What do you think of the congress which met a few weeks ago at Eastadt, and at which the German empire is to negotiate a treaty of peace with France?”
“Your majesty, I believe it will be good for all of us to live at peace with France,” exclaimed Herr von Kockeritz, earnestly. “If Prussia should quarrel with France, it would only afford Austria an opportunity to carry out its long-standing designs upon Bavaria, while Prussia would be occupied elsewhere; and in order not to be hindered by Prussia in doing so, Austria, who now has just concluded so favorable a treaty of peace with France at Campo Formio, would become the ally of France and thus strengthen her old hostility toward Prussia. A war between Austria and Prussia would be the unavoidable consequence; the whole of Germany would dissolve itself into parties favorable or hostile to us, and this state of affairs would give France an opportunity and a pretext to carry out her own predatory designs against Germany; and, while we would be fighting battles perhaps in Silesia and Bavaria, to seize the left bank of the Rhine.”
“I am entirely of your opinion,” exclaimed the king. “I am very glad to find my views in complete harmony with yours.”
It is true Lieutenant-Colonel von Kockeritz was well aware of this, for all he had said just now was nothing but a repetition of what the king, while yet a crown prince, had often told him in their confidential conversations. But of this he took good care not to remind the king, and merely bowed with a grateful smile.
“Yes,” added the king, “like you, I believe prudence and sound policy command us to remain at peace with France, and to form a closer alliance with this power. That is the only way for us to prevent Austria from realizing her schemes of aggrandizement Austria, not France, is dangerous to us; the latter is our natural ally, and the former our natural adversary. Every step forward made by Austria in Germany, forces Prussia a step backward. Let Austria enlarge her territory in the south, toward Italy, but never shall I permit her to extend her northern and western frontiers farther into Germany. The peace of Campo Formio has given Venice to the Austrians but they never shall acquire Bavaria. It is Prussia’s special task to induce France not to permit it, and, precisely for that reason, we must force a closer alliance with France. That, my dear Kockeritz, is my view of the political course that we should pursue in future. Peace abroad and peace at home! No violent commotions and convulsions, no rash innovations and changes. New institutions should gradually and by their own inherent force grow from the existing ones, for only in that case we may be sure that they really have taken root. I shall not head the world in the capacity of a creative and original reformer, but I shall always take pains to adopt such reforms as have proven valuable, and gradually to transform and improve such institutions as at present may be defective and objectionable. And in all these endeavors, my dear Kockeritz, you shall be my adviser and assistant. Will you promise me your aid?”
He looked earnestly and anxiously at the lieutenant-colonel and gave him his hand.
“I promise it to your majesty,” exclaimed Herr von Kockeritz, gravely, and grasping the king’s hand.
“Well,” said the king, “with this solemn pledge you may enter upon your official position, and I am satisfied that my choice has been a judicious one. Remain what you are, sir, an upright, honest man! As far as I am concerned, you may always be sure of my heart-felt gratitude; on the other hand, however, you should remember that you not only oblige me personally, but that I request you, as it were, in the name of the state, to labor for the latter. At some future time you will gain the sweet conviction and satisfaction that you have done not a little for the welfare of the commonwealth and thereby earned the thankfulness of every well-meaning patriot. I am sure there cannot be a sweeter reward for a man of true honor and ambition like yourself.”[Footnote: Vide the king’s letter to Lieutenant-Colonel von Kockeritz]
It was yet early in the morning; the blinds of all the windows in the Taubenstrasse were as yet firmly closed, and only in a single house an active, bustling life prevailed. At its door there stood a heavy travelling-coach which a footman was busily engaged in loading with a large number of trunks, boxes, and packages. In the rooms of the first story people were very active; industrious hands were assiduously occupied with packing up things generally; straw was wrapped around the furniture, and then covered with linen bags. The looking-glasses and paintings were taken from the walls and laid into wooden boxes, the curtains were removed from the windows, and every thing indicated that the inmates of the house were not only about to set out on a journey, but entirely to give up their former mode of living.
Such was really the case, and while the servants filled the anterooms and the halls with the noise of their preparations, those for whom all this bustle and activity took place were in their parlor, in a grave and gloomy mood.
There were two of them—a lady, scarcely twenty-four years of age, and a gentleman, about twelve years older. She was a delicate and lovely woman, with a pale, sad face, while he was a vigorous, stout man with full, round features, and large vivacious eyes which at present tried to look grave and afflicted without being able to do so; she wore a travelling-dress, while his was an elegant morning costume.
Both of them had been silent for awhile, standing at the window, or rather at different windows, and witnessing the removal of the trunks and packages to the travelling-coach. Finally, the lady, with a deep sigh, turned from the window and approached the gentleman who had likewise stepped back into the room.
“I believe the trunks are all in the carriage, and I can set out now, Frederick,” she said, in a low and tremulous voice.
He nodded, and extended his hand toward her. “And you are not angry with me, Julia?” he asked.
She did not take his hand, but only looked up to him with eyes full of eloquent grief. “I am not angry,” she said. “I pray to God that He may forgive you.”
“And will YOU forgive me, too, Julia? For I know I have sinned grievously against you. I have made you shed many tears—I have rendered you wretched and miserable for two years, and these two years will cast a gray shadow over your whole future. When you first entered this room, you were an innocent young girl with rosy cheeks and radiant eyes, and now, as you leave it forever, you are a poor, pale woman with a broken heart and dimmed eyes.”
“A DIVORCED wife, that is all,” she whispered, almost inaudibly. “I came here with a heart overflowing with happiness—I leave you now with a heart full of wretchedness. I came here with the joyous resolution and fixed purpose to render you a happy husband, and I leave you now with the painful consciousness that I have not bestowed upon you that happiness which I sought so earnestly to obtain for myself. Ah, it is very sad and bitter to be under the necessity of accepting this as the only result of two long years!”
“Yes, it is very sad,” he said, sighing. “But after all, it is no fault of ours. There was a dissonance in our married life from the start, and for that reason there never could be any genuine harmony between us. This dissonance—well, at the present hour I may confess it to you, too—this dissonance simply was the fact that I never loved you!”
A convulsive twitching contracted the pale lips of the poor lady. “You were a great hypocrite, then,” she whispered, “for your words, your solemn vows never made me suspect it.”
“Yes, I was a hypocrite, a wretch, a coward!” he exclaimed, impetuously. “They overwhelmed me with exhortations, supplications, and representations. They knew so well to flatter me with the idea that the beautiful, wealthy, and much-courted heiress, Julia Gilly, had fallen in love with me, the poor, unknown Frederick Gentz, the humble military counsellor. They knew so well to depict to me the triumph I would obtain by marrying you, to the great chagrin of all your other suitors. Flattery intoxicates me, and a success, a triumph over others, fills me with the wildest delight. My father spoke of my debts, my creditors threatened me with suits and imprisonment—”
“And thus,” she interrupted him—“thus you sacrificed me to your vanity and to your debts—you falsely vowed a love to me which you never felt, and accepted my hand. My father paid your debts, you solemnly promised to all of us not to incur any new ones, but you utterly broke your pledges. Instead of squandering hundreds as heretofore, you henceforth lavished thousands, until my whole maternal property was gone—until my father, in a towering passion, turned his back upon us and swore never to see us again. The creditors, the debts, the embarrassments, reappeared, and as I had no money left with which to extricate you from your difficulties, you thought you owed me no further respect and were not under the necessity of remembering that I was your wife. You had a number of love-affairs, as I knew very well, but was silent. Love-letters arrived for you, not from one woman with whom you had fallen in love, but from God knows how many. I was aware of it and was silent. And when you were finally shameless enough to let the whole city witness your passion for an actress—when all Berlin spoke contemptuously of this flame of yours and of the follies you committed in consequence—then I could be silent no longer, and my honor and dignity commanded me to apply for a divorce.”
“And every one must acknowledge that you were perfectly right. As a friend I could not have given you myself any other advice, for I shall not and cannot alter my nature. I am unable to accustom myself to a quiet and happy family life—domestic felicity is repulsive to me, and a feeling of restraint makes me rear and plunge like the noble charger feeling his bit and bridle for the first time. I can bear no chains, Julia, not even those of an excellent and affectionate wife such as you have been to me.”
“You can bear no chains,” she said, bitterly, “and yet you are always in chains—in the chains of your debts, your love-affairs, and your frivolity. Oh, listen to me—heed my words for once. They are as solemn as though they were uttered on a death-bed, for we shall never see each other again. Fancy a mother were speaking to you—a mother tenderly loving you. For I confess to you that I still love you, Gentz—my heart cannot yet break loose from you, and even now that I have to abandon you, I feel that I shall forever remain tenderly attached to you. Oh, true love is ever hopeful, and that was the reason why I remained in your house, although my father had applied for a divorce. I was always in hopes that your heart would return to me—oh, I did not suspect that you had never loved me!—and thus I hoped in vain, and must go now, for our divorce will be proclaimed to-day, and honor forbids me to remain here any longer. But now that I am going, listen once more to the warning voice of a friend. Frederick Gentz, turn back! Pursue no longer the slippery path of frivolity and voluptuousness. Break loose from the meshes of pleasures and sensuality. God has given you a noble mind, a powerful intellect—make good use of your surpassing abilities. Become as great and illustrious as Providence has intended you if you but be true to yourself. See, I believe in you, and although you only seem to live for pleasure and enjoyment, I know you are destined to accomplish great things, provided you strive to do so. Oh, let me beseech you to change your course, and to emerge from this whirlpool of dissipation and profligacy. Close your ears to the alluring songs of the sirens, and listen to the sublime voices resounding in your breast and calling you to the path of glory and honor. Follow them, Frederick Gentz—be a man, do not drift any longer aimlessly in an open boat, but step on a proud and glorious ship, grasp the helm and steer it out upon the ocean. You are the man to pilot the ship, and the ocean will obey you, and you will get into port loaded with riches, glory, and honor. Only make an effort. Remember my words, and now, Frederick Gentz, in order to live happily, never remember me!”
She turned round and hastily left the room. He stood immovable for several minutes, dreamily gazing after her, while her words were still resounding in his ears like an inspired prophecy. But when he heard the carriage roll away on the street, he started, passed his hand across his quivering face and whispered: “I have deeply wronged her; may God forgive me!”
Suddenly, however, he drew himself up to his full height, and a gleam of intense joy burst forth from his eyes. “I am free!” he exclaimed, loudly and in a tone of exultation. “Yes, I am free! My life and the world belong to me again. All women are mine again, Cupid and all the gods of love will boldly flit toward me, for they need not conceal themselves any longer from the face of a husband strolling on forbidden grounds, nor from the spying eyes of a jealous wife. Life is mine again, and I will enjoy it; yes I enjoy it. I will enjoy it like fragrant wine pressed to our lips in a golden goblet, sparkling with diamonds. Ah, how they are hammering and battering in the anteroom! Every stroke of theirs is a note of the glorious song of my liberty. The furniture of my household is gone; the pictures and looking-glasses are all gone—gone. The past and every thing reminding me thereof shall disappear from these rooms. I will have new furniture—furniture of gold and velvet, large Venetian mirrors, and splendid paintings. Oh, my rooms shall look as glorious and magnificent as those of a prince, and all Berlin shall speak of the splendor and luxury of Frederick Gentz. And to whom shall I be indebted for it? Not to any wife’s dower, but to myself—to myself alone, to my talents, to my genius! Oh, in regard to this at least, poor Julia shall not have been mistaken. I shall gain fame, and glory, and honors; my name shall become a household word throughout all Europe; it shall reecho in every cabinet; every minister shall have recourse to me, and—hark! What’s that?” he suddenly interrupted himself. “I really believe they are quarrelling in the anteroom.”
Indeed, a violent altercation was heard outside. Suddenly the door was pushed open, and a vigorous, broad-shouldered man, with a flushed and angry face, appeared on the threshold.
“Well,” he exclaimed, with a bitter sneer, turning to the footman who stood behind him, “was I not right when I told you that Mr. Counsellor Gentz was at home? You would not announce me, because your master had ordered you not to admit any visitors of my class. But I want to be admitted. I will not permit myself to be shown out of the anteroom like a fool, while the counsellor here is snugly sitting on his sofa laughing at me.”
“You see, my dear Mr. Werner, I am neither sitting on my sofa nor laughing at you,” said Gentz, slowly approaching his angry visitor. “And now let me ask you what you want of me.”
“What I want of you?” replied the stranger, with a sneer. “Sir, you know very well what I want of you. I want my money! I want the five hundred dollars you have been owing me for the last twelve months. I trusted your word and your name; I furnished you my best wines—my choicest champagne and the most exquisite delicacies for your dinner parties. You have treated your friends; that was all right enough, but it should have been done at your expense, and not at mine. For that reason I am here, and you must pay me. For the hundredth and last time, I demand my money!”
“And if I now tell you for the hundredth, but not the last time, that I have not got any money?”
“Then I shall go to the war department and attach your salary.”
“Ah, my dear friend, there you would be altogether too late,” exclaimed Gentz, laughing. “My honorable landlord has outstripped you as far as that is concerned; he has attached my salary for a whole year, and I believe it is even insufficient to cover what I owe him.”
“But in the d—l’s name, sir, you must find some other means of satisfying my claim, for I tell you I shall not leave this room without getting my money.”
“My dear Mr. Werner, pray do not shout so dreadfully,” said Gentz, anxiously; “my ears are very sensitive, and such shouting terrifies me as much as a thunderstorm. I am quite willing to pay you, only point out to me a way to do it!”
“Borrow money of other people and then pay me!”
“My dear sir, that is a way I have exhausted long ago. There is no one willing to advance me money either on interest or on my word of honor.”
“But how in the d—l’s name are you going to pay me then, sir?”
“That is exactly what I don’t know yet, but after a while I shall know, and that time will come very soon. For I tell you, sir, these days of humiliations and debts will soon cease for me. I shall occupy an exalted and brilliant position; the young king will give it to me, and—”
“Fiddlesticks!” exclaimed Wemer, interrupting him; “do not feed me with such empty hopes after I have fed you with delicacies and quenched your thirst with my champagne.”
“My dear sir, I have not partaken all alone of your good cheer; my friends have helped me, and now you ask me alone to pay the whole bill. That is contrary to natural law and to political economy.”
“Mr. Counsellor, are you mocking me with your political economy? What do you know about economy?”
“Ah, I am quite familiar with it, and my book on English finances has brought me fame and honor.”
“It would have been better for you, Mr. Counsellor, if you had attended to your own finances. All Berlin knows in what condition they are.” “Nevertheless, there were always excellent men putting a noble trust in me, and believing that I would repay the money I borrowed of them. You are one of those excellent men, Mr. Werner, and I shall never forget it. Have a little patience, and I will pay you principal and interest.”
“I cannot wait, Mr. Counsellor. I am in the greatest embarrassment myself; I have to redeem large notes in the course of a few days, and unless I can do so I am lost, my whole family is ruined, and my reputation gone; then I must declare myself insolvent, and suffer people to call me an impostor and villain, who incurs debts without knowing wherewith to pay them. Sir, I shall never suffer this, and therefore I must have my money, and I will not leave this room until you have paid my claim in full.”
“In that case, my dear sir, I am afraid you will have to remain here and suffer the same distressing fate as Lot’s unfortunate wife—”
“Sir, pray be serious, for my business here is of a very serious character. Five hundred dollars is no trifle; a man may squander them in a few days, but they may cause him also to commit suicide. Pay me, sir, pay me; I want my money!”
“For God’s sake, do not shout in this manner. I told you once already that I cannot stand it. I know very well that five hundred dollars is a serious matter, and that you must have your money. I will make an effort, nay, I will do my utmost to get it for you; but you must be quiet. I pledge you my word that I will exert myself to the best of my power in order to obtain that amount for you, but in return you must promise me to go home quietly and peaceably, and to wait there until I bring you the money.”
“What are you going to do? How are you going to get the money? You told me just now you were unable to borrow any thing.”
“But somebody may give me those miserable five hundred dollars, and it seems to me that would do just as well.”
“Oh, you are laughing at me.”
“By no means, sir. Just be still and let me write a letter. I will afterward show you the address, and thereby let you know from whom I am expecting assistance.”
He walked rapidly to his desk, penned a few lines, and placed the paper in a large envelope, which he sealed and directed.
“Read the address,” he said, showing the letter to Mr. Werner.
“To his excellency the minister of the treasury, Count von Schulenburg-Kehnert, general of artillery,” read Werner, with a hesitating tongue, and casting astonished and inquisitive glances upon Gentz. “And this is the distinguished gentleman to whom you apply for the money. Mr. Counsellor?”
“Yes, my friend; and you must confess that a minister of finance is the best man to apply to for money. I have written to his excellency that I stand in urgent need of five hundred dollars today, and I request him to extricate me from my embarrassment. I ask him to appoint an hour during the forenoon when I may call upon him and get the money.”
“And you really believe that he will give you the money?”
“My dear sir, I am perfectly sure of it, and in order to satisfy you likewise, I will make a proposition. Accompany my footman to the minister’s house, carry the letter to him yourself, and hear his reply. You may then repeat this reply to my footman, go home in good spirits, and wait there until I bring you the money.”
“And if you should fail to come?” asked Werner.
“Then that last remedy you alluded to, suicide, always remains to you. Now go, my dear sir. John! John!”
The footman opened the door with a rapidity indicating that his ears probably had not been very far from the keyhole.
“John,” said Gentz, “accompany this gentleman to the house of Minister Schulenburg-Kehnert, and wait at the door for the reply he will repeat to you. And now, Mr. Werner, good-by; you see I have done all I can, and I hope you will remember that in future, and not make so much noise for the sake of a few miserable dollars. Good gracious, if I did not owe any one more than you, my creditors might thank their stars—”
“Poor creditors!” sighed Mr. Werner, saluting Gentz, and left the room with the footman, holding the letter like a trophy in his hand.
“Well, I am really anxious to know whether the minister will give me the money,” murmured Gentz; “his reply will indicate to me, if the letter to the king I intrusted yesterday to Menken, has made a favorable impression, and if I may hope at length for promotion and other favors. My God, I am pining away in my present miserable and subordinate position! I am able to accomplish greater things. I am worth more than all these generals, ministers, and ambassadors, who are so proud and overbearing, and dare to look down upon me as though I were their inferior. Ah! I shall not stoop so low as to knuckle to them and flatter them. I don’t want to be lifted up by them, but I will be their equal. I feel that I am the peer of the foremost and highest of all these so-called statesmen. I do not need them, but they need me. Ah, my God! somebody knocks at the door again, and John is not at home. Good Heaven, if it should be another of those noisy, impertinent creditors! I am indebted to Julia for all these vexations. Because her things are being sent away, every door in the house is open, and every one can easily penetrate into my room. Yes, yes, I am coming. I am already opening the door.”
He hastened to the door and unlocked it. This time, however, no creditor was waiting outside, but a royal footman, who respectfully bowed to the military counsellor.
“His royal highness Prince Louis Ferdinand,” he said, “requests Mr. Counsellor Gentz to dine with him to-morrow.”
Gentz nodded haughtily. “I shall come,” he said briefly, and then looked inquiringly at his own footman who had just entered the other room.
“Well, John, what did the minister reply?”
“His excellency requests Mr. Counsellor Gentz to call on him in the course of an hour.”
“All right!” said Gentz, and an expression of heart-felt satisfaction overspread his features. He closed the door, and stepped back into his study, and, folding his hands on his back, commenced pacing the room.
“He is going to receive me in the course of an hour,” he murmured. “I may conclude, therefore that the king was pleased with my letter, and that I am at last to enter upon a new career. Ah, now my head is light, and my heart is free; now I will go to work.”
He sat down at his desk and commenced writing rapidly. His features assumed a grave expression, and proud and sublime thoughts beamed on his expansive forehead.
He was so absorbed in his task that he entirely forgot the audience the minister had granted to him, and his footman had to come in and remind him that the hour for calling upon his excellency was at hand.
“Ah! to be interrupted in my work for such a miserable trifle,” said Gentz, indignantly laying down his pen and rising. “Well, then, if it must be, give me my dress-coat. John, and I will go to his excellency.”
A quarter of an hour later Counsellor Frederick Gentz entered the anteroom of Count Schulenburg-Kehnert, minister of finance. “Announce my arrival to his excellency,” he said to the footman in waiting, with a condescending nod, and then quickly followed him to the door of the minister’s study.
“Permit me to announce you to his excellency,” said the footman, and slipped behind the portiere. He returned in a few minutes.
“His excellency requests Mr. Gentz to wait a little while. His excellency has to attend to a few dispatches yet, but will very soon be ready to admit Mr. Gentz.”
“Very well, I shall wait,” said Gentz, with a slight frown, and he approached the splendidly bound books which were piled up in gilt cases on the walls of the room. The most magnificent and precious works of ancient and modern literature, the rarest editions, the most superb illustrated books were united in this library, and Gentz noticed it with ill-concealed wrath.
“These men can have all these treasures, nay, they have got them, and value them so little as to keep them in their anterooms,” he murmured, in a surly tone, forgetting altogether that the footman was present and could overhear every word he said. He had really heard his remark, and replied to it, approaching Gentz:
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Counsellor, his excellency does not undervalue these treasures, but appreciates them highly, and is always glad enough when the bookbinder delivers new volumes in gorgeous bindings. For this very reason his excellency has ordered the library to be placed in this anteroom, so that it also may gladden the hearts of other people, and those gentlemen who have to wait here may have something wherewith to while away their time.”
“They are permitted, then, to take the books down and read them?” asked Gentz.
The footman looked somewhat embarrassed. “I believe,” he said, timidly, “that would not be altogether agreeable to his excellency, for you see, Mr. Counsellor, all of these beautiful books are gilt-edged, and gilt edges suffer greatly if the books are read. You cannot even open the books without injuring them slightly.”
“And the gilt edges on this row of the books before me are as good as new, and perfectly uninjured,” said Gentz, gravely.
“Well, that is easily explained. They have not been disturbed since the bookbinder brought them here,” exclaimed the footman, solemnly. “No one would dare to handle them.”
“Does not his excellency read these books?”
“God forbid! His excellency likes books, but he has not got time to read much. But whenever his excellency passes through this anteroom, he pauses before his bookcases, and looks at them, and, with his own hands, frequently wipes off the dust from the gilt edges of the books.”
“Indeed, that is a most honorable occupation for a minister of finance,” said Gentz, emphatically. “It is always a great consolation to know that a minister of finance wipes off the dust from the gold. I should be very happy if his excellency should consent to do that also for me as often as possible. But does it not seem to you, my dear fellow, that it takes his excellency a good while to finish those dispatches? It is nearly half an hour since I have been waiting here.”
“I am sure his excellency will soon ring the bell.”
“Ring the bell?” asked Gentz, uneasily, “for whom?”
“Why, for myself, in order to notify me to admit you, Mr. Counsellor.”
“Ah, for you?” asked Gentz, drawing a deep breath, and turning once more to the books in order to while away the time by reading at least the titles, as he was not permitted to take down and open one of the magnificent volumes.
Time passed on in this manner, and Gentz was walking up and down near the bookcases, studying the titles, and waiting. The footman had withdrawn into the most remote window, and was waiting likewise.
Suddenly the large clock commenced striking solemnly and slowly, and announced to Gentz that he had been a whole hour in his excellency’s anteroom. And his excellency had not yet rung the bell.
At this moment Gentz turned toward the footman with a gesture of indignation and impatience.
“I am satisfied that his excellency has entirely forgotten that I am waiting here in the anteroom,” he said, angrily. “The dispatches must be quite lengthy, for I have been here now for an hour already! Hence I must beg you to inform the minister that I cannot wait any longer, for I am quite busy too, and have to return to my study. Please say that to his excellency.”
“But can I dare to disturb his excellency?” asked the footman, anxiously. “He has not rung the bell, sir.”
“Well, you must be kind enough to disturb him and tell him I must leave unless he can admit me at once,” exclaimed Gentz, energetically. “Go, sir, go!”
The footman sighed deeply. “Well, I will do so at your risk, Mr. Counsellor,” he said, in a low voice, stepping behind the portiere. He soon returned, a malicious smile playing on his lips.
“His excellency regrets that you cannot wait any longer, Mr. Counsellor,” he said. “His excellency being so busy that he cannot be disturbed, he requests you to call again to-morrow at the same hour.”
“So his excellency dismisses me after detaining me here in the anteroom for more than an hour?” asked Gentz, incredulously.
“His excellency is overwhelmed with unexpected business,” said the footman, with a shrug of his shoulders. “His excellency therefore requests you, Mr. Counsellor, to call again to-morrow.”
Gentz cast upon the footman a glance which would have shivered him like a thunderbolt if he had not been a man of stone. But being a man of stone, the thunderbolt harmlessly glanced off from him. With a peculiar smile, he assisted the enraged counsellor in putting on his cloak, handed him his hat with a polite bow, and then hastened to the door in order to open it to him.
At this moment the minister in his study rang the bell loudly and violently. The footman quickly opened the door leading to the hall, and, with a polite gesture, invited Gentz to step out. The latter, however, did not stir. He had hastily placed his hat on his head and was now putting on his gloves with as grave an air as if they were gauntlets with which he was going to arm himself for the purpose of stepping out into the arena.
The minister’s bell resounded even louder and more violently than before.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Counsellor,” the footman exclaimed, impatiently, “his excellency is calling me. Be kind enough to close the door when you leave. I must go to his excellency.”
He hurriedly crossed the room and hastened into the minister’s study.
Gentz now put on his gloves and approached the door. He bent one more glance full of anger upon the anteroom, and finally fixed his eyes upon the glittering books in the cases on the wall. An expression of malicious joy suddenly overspread his features. He drew back from the door, and hurriedly crossing the room, he approached the books. Without any hesitation whatever, he took down one of the largest and most richly ornamented volumes, concealed the book under his cloak, hastened back to the door, and left the house of the minister of finance with a haughty and defiant air.
Without nodding or greeting any one, he hastened through the streets back to his own house. At the door of the latter there stood two huge furniture-wagons, half filled with the sofas, arm-chairs, tables, and looking-glasses which heretofore had adorned his rooms, and which he was now going to lose with his wife.
The servants had not finished removing the furniture, and he had to pause in the hall in order to let them pass with the large silken sofa which had been the chief ornament of his own parlor. This greatly increased his anger; with furious gestures he rapidly ascended the staircase and went to his rooms. Every door was open—the apartments which he crossed with ringing steps, were empty and deserted, and finally he reached the door of his study, where his footman had posted himself like a faithful sentinel. Gentz silently beckoned him to open it, and entered. But when the servant was going to follow him, he silently but imperiously kept him back, and slammed the door in his face.
Now at last he was alone; now no one could see and watch him any longer; now he could utter the cry of rage that was filling his breast and almost depriving him of the power of speech; and after uttering this cry, he could appease his wrath still in some other way.
He threw his cloak and hat upon a chair, seized the splendidly bound and richly gilt volume from the minister’s library with both hands and hurled it upon the floor.
“Lie there, toy of a proud minister!” he exclaimed furiously. “I will treat you as I would like to treat him. I will abuse you as I would like to abuse him. There! take this! and this! and that!”
And he stamped with his heels upon the magnificent work, clinching his fists and swearing fearfully. [Footnote: Vide “Gallerie von Bildnissen aus Rahel’s Umgang,” edited by Varnhagen von Ense, vol ii., p 168.]
A loud and merry laugh was heard behind him, and upon turning round he beheld in the door one of his friends, who was looking at him with a radiant face.
“Herr von Gualtieri, you laugh, and I am furious,” exclaimed Gentz, stamping again upon the costly volume.
“But why, for God’s sake, are you furious?” asked Herr von Gualtieri. “Why do you perpetrate such vandalism upon that magnificent volume under your feet?”
“Why? Well, I will tell you. I was to-day at the house of Count Schulenburg-Kehnert; he had sent me word to call on him at ten o’clock, and when I was there, he made me stand for an hour in his anteroom like his gorgeous, gilt-edged books, which his footman told me he never opens because he is afraid of injuring their gilt edges.”
“And did he admit you after you had been in the anteroom for an hour?”
“No. When I had been there for an hour, he sent me word through his footman that he was too busy to receive me, and that I had better call again to-morrow. Bah! He wanted to treat me like those books of his, which he never opens; he did not want to open me either—me, a man who has got more mind, more knowledge, and information than all his books together. He made me wait in his anteroom for a whole hour, and then dismissed me!”
“And you allowed yourself to be dismissed?”
“Yes, sir, I did; but I took one of his splendid gilt-edged volumes along, in order to stamp on it and maltreat it, as I would like to maltreat him. Thus! and thus! To crush it under my heels. It does me good. It relieves me. At this moment this is the only revenge I can take against the miserable fellow.” [Footnote: Gentz’s own words. Vide “Rahel’s Umgang,” vol ii., p. 168.]
Herr von Gualtieri laughed uproariously. “Ah! that is an entirely novel jus gentium,” he exclaimed; “an exceedingly funny jus gentium. My friend, let me embrace you; you are a glorious fellow!”
With open arms he approached Gentz and pressed him tenderly, laughing all the while, to his heart.
Gentz was unable to withstand this kindness and this laughter, and suddenly forgetting his anger, he boisterously joined his friend’s mirth.
“You like my revenge?” he asked.
“Ah! it is admirable; it is the revenge of a genuine Corsican!” said Gualtieri, gravely.
“Of a Corsican?” asked Gentz, shrinking back. “That is an ugly comparison, sir. I do not want to have any thing in common with that Corsican, General Bonaparte. I tell you I am afraid that man will some day prove a terrible scourge for us.”
“And I adore him!” exclaimed Gualtieri. “He is the resuscitated Alexander of Macedon, the conqueror of the world, the master of the world. He alone has stemmed the tide of revolution in France. To him alone the French are indebted for the restoration of order and tranquillity in their country. The thirteenth of Vendemiaire is as heroic a deed, as great a victory, as the battles of Lodi and Arcole.”
“That may be,” said Gentz, morosely. “I am no soldier, and do not like battles and warfare. And what do we Germans care for the Corsican? Have we not got enough to do at home? Germany, however, is so happy and contented that, like the Pharisee, she may look upon republican France and exclaim: ‘I thank thee, my God, that I am not like this man.’”
“You are right,” replied Gualtieri. “We also stand in need of a revolution. In Germany, too, a guillotine must be erected—heads must fall, and death must hold its bloody harvest.”
“Hush, my friend, hush!” said Gentz, drawing back in dismay. “Did you merely come to me for the purpose of speaking of such dreadful matters, while you are well aware that I don’t like to hear anybody allude to bloodshed, murders, and similar horrors?”
“I merely wanted to try you a little in order to see whether you are still the same dear old childish coward,” exclaimed Gualtieri, laughing. “The same great child with the strong, manly soul, and the gentle, weak, and easily moved child’s heart. Now, let me know quickly what you wanted of the minister of finance, and I shall reward you then by telling you some good news. Well, then, what did you want of Schulenburg?”
“I had asked him to lend me five hundred dollars, and to appoint an hour when I might call for the money. He named ten o’clock, and I went to his house, merely to leave it an hour after in a towering passion and with empty hands. Oh, it is infamous, it is dreadful! It is—”
At that moment the door opened, and the footman entered.
“From his excellency. General von Schulenburg-Kehnert,” he said, delivering to Gentz a small sealed package and a letter. “The servant who brought it has left, as he said no reply was required.”
Gentz beckoned his servant to withdraw, and he then hastily opened the package.
“Twelve fifty-dollar bills!” he exclaimed, triumphantly. “One hundred dollars more than I had asked for! That is very kind, indeed.”
“May be he does not give it to you, but merely lends it to you,” said Gualtieri, smiling.
“Lend it to me!” exclaimed Gentz, scornfully. “People don’t lend any money to me, because they know that I am unable to pay it back; people reward me, sir; they show their gratitude toward me in a substantial manner, but they are not so mean as to lend me what I ask for.”
“Does the minister tell you so in his letter?” asked Gualtieri, dryly.
“Ah! that is true. I have not yet read the letter,” said Gentz, breaking the seal. While he was reading it, a slight blush suffused his cheeks, and an expression of shame overspread his features. “Here, read it,” he murmured, handing the letter to his friend.
Gualtieri took it and read as follows:
“My Dear Counsellor,—You wished to see me, and I begged you to call at ten o’clock, although I was overwhelmed with business and hardly had any time to spare. Precisely at ten o’clock I was ready to receive you, for in all matters of business I am a very punctual man. However, after vainly waiting for you for half an hour, I resumed my work. I had to examine some very complicated accounts, and could not allow myself to be interrupted after once taking them up. Hence I had to ask you to wait, and when, after waiting for half an hour, like myself, you grew impatient and would not stay any longer, I sent you word to call again to-morrow. Now, that I have concluded my pressing business, however, I hasten to comply with your request. You asked me for five hundred dollars; here they are. Knowing, however, how precious your time is, and that you had to wait for half an hour through my fault, I take the liberty of adding one hundred dollars for the time you have lost to-day. Farewell, sir, and let me conclude with expressing the hope that you will soon again delight the world and myself with one of your excellent works.”