Chapter VII. - AFTER THE BATTLE.
The Prussians were resting from their labors, not in comfortable tents or on soft cushions, but on the hard ground, with no protection against sun and wind, and not too distant from the battle-field to hear the heart-rending cries and groans of their dying comrades. But even these cries and groans were to the triumphant Prussians the sign of their glorious victory, and awoke in those who had escaped unscathed through this terrible fire a feeling of deep gratitude.
After these fearful hours of excitement followed a general lassitude, a positive physical necessity for rest. But, alas! there was something which drove sleep from their eyelids, and increased the weariness of their bodies. This was hunger. The pandours had thoroughly plundered the Prussian camp; they had taken not only the baggage of the poor soldiers, but all their provisions.
The Prussians, who had obtained so glorious a triumph in the morning, were now looking forward to a day of fasting, while the Austrians, in spite of their defeat, were consoling themselves with the provisions which they had taken from the Prussians. Happy was he who had a piece of bread in his knapsack, or whose tent had been overlooked or forgotten by the plunderers; but few had been so fortunate, and these in the egotism of hunger refused to share their precious treasure, even with their dearest friend.
King Frederick was not among the fortunate. The victory was his, but his laurel-wreath could not be transformed into bread. He had said in vain to his generals and adjutants, „We will dine.“ There was nothing to set before the king.
When General Rothenberg brought this disagreeable news to the king, he said, laughing gayly: „Let us imagine ourselves to be Catholics, my friends, for the present, and it will be quite in order that we should fast on the day of a glorious victory. I will be quite contented with a piece of bread, and I suppose that can be found somewhere for the King of Prussia.“
But General Rothenberg's order to the royal cook to satisfy the simple demand of his master was in vain. The cook had nothing, neither meat, fruit, nor bread.
„I will not return empty-handed to the king,“ said Rothenberg, with tears in his eyes. „I would sooner part with my last ducat to the first soldier I meet who has a piece of bread.“
The general then passed, with inquisitive glances, through the group of soldiers who were talking over the events of the last few hours. At last he perceived a soldier who was not talking, but was ogling a piece of bread which he seemed preparing to devour. With a hasty spring the general was at his side, his hand upon the bread.
„I will give you two ducats for this piece of bread, my friend.“
„Two ducats! what should I do with two ducats?“ he asked, with a scornful laugh. „I cannot eat your ducats, general, and my bread is more precious to me than a handful of ducats.“
„If you will not give it for gold, then give it for love,“ cried the general. „For love of your king who is hungry, and has nothing to satisfy his craving.“
The countenance of the soldier, which had been so smiling, became earnest, and he murmured thoughtfully to himself, „The king has no bread!“
„The king is hungry,“ repeated Rothenberg, almost imploringly.
„The king is hungry,“ murmured the soldier, sadly, as he glanced at the bread in his hand. Then, with quiet determination, he cut the loaf in two pieces, and handing one to the general, he said, „I will give you half of my bread, that is really all I can do for the king. Take it, general, the matter is settled. I will give no more.“
„I desire no more,“ said Rothenberg, as he hurried off with the bread to the newly-erected tent of the king.
The soldier looked smilingly after him, but suddenly his countenance became overcast, he was seized with a fearful idea--suppose the general had deceived him, and the bread was not for the king? He must know, he must convince himself that the statement was true. He followed the general rapidly, and soon overtook him. Rothenberg perceived him, and understood instantly why he had followed him. Smilingly he entered the presence of the king.
„My king, I am here, and bring what you demanded, a piece of bread.“
„Ah, that means renewed strength,“ said the king, as he received the bread and commenced eating it with evident satisfaction. „How did you procure this bread for me, my friend?“
„Sire, I obtained it of a soldier, who refused to sell it, but who gladly gave it to me when he heard it was for the king. Afterward he conceived a doubt that I had deceived him, and that I had obtained his treasure for my own gratification. He followed me, and I wager he is standing without longing to know if the king is really eating his bread.“
„I will gratify his desire,“ said Frederick, smiling, as he raised the curtain of the tent, and stood in the opening.
There stood the soldier, staring at the tent, but he trembled when he perceived the king. Frederick nodded to him most kindly, and proceeded to cut the bread which he held in his hand.
„I thank you for your bread,“ he said; „my friend, you must ask some favor of me. Think what you would wish.“
„Oh! I need not think,“ the soldier cried joyfully. „If I may wish for something, it shall be the position of magistrate in my native land in Prussia.“
„When peace is declared, your wish shall be gratified,“ said the king to the delighted soldier, and then bowing graciously, Frederick reentered the tent.
„Now my friend, my Pylades, we will allow ourselves an hour of rest, of recreation; I think we have earned it. Come and read aloud to me.“
„What shall I read to your majesty?“ asked Rothenberg, evidently embarrassed.
„You may read from Horace.“
„Your majesty does not know--“ said Rothenberg, hesitatingly.
„What do I not know?“
„That the pandours have carried off your camp library.“
„What! my books too?“ demanded the king, and a cloud darkened his brow. „What can the pandours and Croats do with my poor books? Could they not content themselves with my treasure and my silver-ware? Must they take what is so worthless to them, and so precious to me?“
Then, with bent brows, his hands crossed behind him, he paced back and forth in the narrow tent. Suddenly arresting his steps, he glanced around the tent, as if in search of something. „Biche is not here,“ he said quietly; „bring Biche to me, my friend.“
But General Rothenberg did not move.
„Well!“ exclaimed the king.
„Sire, they have taken Biche with them also.“
„Biche also, my faithful friend, my pet!“ cried the king, with much emotion, as he again began his walk. At length, approaching the general, he placed both hands upon his shoulder and looked tenderly into his eyes. „I have my friend,“ he said gently, „why should I be troubled about my books or my dog? I will send to Berlin and have the books replaced, and I will ransom Biche. They cannot refuse to restore the faithful animal to me.“
There was an expression of such anxiety on the king's features, that Rothenberg was much moved.
„I do not doubt, sire,“ he said, „that your favorite will be returned to you. Your majesty may well trust to that Providence which has vouchsafed you so glorious a victory.“
The king replied, smiling: „I will tell you a secret, my friend. I deserved to be overcome in this battle, for I had weakened my army too much by detachments. Nothing but the skill of my generals and the bravery of my troops saved me from a defeat. Something is also due to the avarice of the pandours and Croats; a branch of our laurel-wreath belongs justly to Nadasti and Trenck. It is most fortunate that the courier who brought those last dispatches from Berlin, did not arrive during the battle. He would certainly have been captured by the pandours, and my dispatches lost. My friend, do you not see how Providence marks out for me the path of duty? A king dare not waste a moment in dreams or idle pleasures. I wished to live an hour for myself, when I should have been reading these dispatches. We will go to work; here is the key of the dispatch bag; open it and take out the letters.“
The king then seated himself before the common deal table which stood in the centre of the tent, and assorted the papers which Rothenberg handed to him.
„We will first read the letters from our friends,“ said the king, placing the dispatches and papers on one side. „Here are letters from D'Argens, and from Knobelsdorf, but none from Duhan, or Jordan, or Kaiserling. What does that mean? I fear that all is not right. Ah! here is a letter for you, my friend, in the handwriting of Duhan. He writes to you, and not to me. Read, Rothenberg, and tell me its contents.“
The king then opened one of his own letters, but it was evident that it did not occupy his attention. He raised his eyes every few seconds to look at the general, who had become very pale on first opening his letter, and whose countenance now bore an expression of pain. Frederick could no longer endure this silence. He arose hastily, and approached Rothenberg.
„My friend,“ he said, „Duhan has written something to you that he would not write to me--something most painful. I see by your countenance.“
„Your majesty is right; my letters contain most distressing intelligence.“
„Ah!“ murmured the king, as he turned from Rothenberg, „I fear I have not the strength to support this coming trial.“ After a pause, he continued: „Now, my friend, tell me, are my mother and sisters well?“
„Sire, the entire royal family are well.“
„Your intelligence, then, relates to my friends. Two of them are ill--yes, two. How is Jordan? You do not answer--you weep. How is Jordan?“
„Sire, Jordan is dead.“
„Dead!“ cried the king, as he sank powerless upon his chair, and covered his face with his hands. „Dead! my best, my dearest friend is dead?“
„His death was as bright and peaceful as his life,“ said Rothenberg. „His last word was a farewell to your majesty, his last act was to write to his king. Here is the letter, sire.“
The king silently received the letter from Rothenberg. Two great tears ran slowly down his checks, and, falling on the letter, obliterated some words of the address. „Jordan's hand wrote these words for the last time; this idle title 'his majesty'--and my tears have washed it away. Jordan! Jordan I am no longer a king, but a poor, weak man who mourns for his lost friend.“
He pressed the paper passionately to his lips; then placed it in his bosom, and turned once more to Rothenberg.
„Tell me the rest, my friend; I am resigned to all things now.“
„Did you not say, sire, that you had left two friends ill in Berlin?“
„Jordan and Kaiserling. You do not mean that Kaiserling also--oh, no, no! that is impossible! Jordan is dead, and I knew that he must die; but Kaiserling will recover--I feel, I know it.“
„Your majesty,“ said Rothenberg, „if I were a pious priest, I would say Kaiserling has recovered, for his soul has returned to God.“
„Kaiserling dead also! Rothenberg, how could you find the courage to tell me this? Two friends lost in a moment of time.“ The king said nothing more. His head sank upon his breast, and he wept bitterly. After a time he raised his head, and said, as if to himself: „My two friends! They were my family--now I am orphaned. Sorrow will make a desert of my heart, and men will call me cold and heartless. They will not know that my heart is a graveyard, wherein my friends lie buried.“
The tears ran slowly down his cheeks as he uttered this death-wail. So deep was the grief depicted on the countenance of the king, that Rothenberg could no longer restrain himself. He rushed to the king, and, sinking on his knees beside him, seized his hands and covered them with tears and kisses.
„Oh, my king, my hero! cease to mourn, if you do not wish to see me die of grief.“
The king smiled mournfully, as he replied: „If one could die of grief, I would not have survived this hour.“
„What would the world think could they see this great conqueror forgetting his triumphs and indulging such grief?“
„Ah, my friend, you desire to console me with the remembrance of this victory! I rejoice that I have preserved my land from a cruel misfortune, and that my troops are crowned with glory. But my personal vanity finds no food in this victory. The welfare and the happiness of my people alone lie on my heart--I think not of my own fleeting fame.“
„The fame of my king is not fleeting. It will live in future years,“ cried the general.
The king shrugged his shoulders almost contemptuously. „Only death stamps fame upon kings' lives. For the present, I am content to fulfil my duties to the best of my ability. To be a true king, a monarch must be willing to resign all personal happiness. As for me, Rothenberg, on this day, when I, as a king, am peculiarly fortunate, my heart is wrung by the loss of two dear friends. The man must pay for the happiness of the king. But,“ said the king, after a pause, „this is the dealing of the Almighty; I must submit silently. Would that my heart were silent! I will tell you something, my friend. I fear that I was unjust to Machiavelli. He was right--only a man with a heart of iron can be a king, for he alone could think entirely of his people.“
„How suffering and full of grief must my king be to speak thus! You have lost two dear friends, sire. I also mourn their loss, but am suffering from a still deeper grief. I have lost the love of my king. I have lost faith in the friendship of my Frederick,“ said Rothenberg, sighing deeply.
„My Rothenberg,“ said the king, with his deep, tender voice, „look at me, and tell me what men call you, when they speak of you and me?“
„I hope they call me your majesty's most faithful servant.“
„No, they call you my favorite, and what they say is true. Vox populi vox Dei. Come to my heart, my favorite.“
„Ah! my king, my prince, my friend,“ cried Rothenberg, enthusiastically, as he threw himself into the arms of the king.
They stood long thus, heart pressed to heart; and who that had seen them, the king and the hero, the conquerors of the day, would have imagined that their tears were not the tears of happiness and triumph, but of suffering and love?
„And now,“ said Frederick, after a pause, „let me again be king. I must return to my duties.“
He seated himself at the table, and Rothenberg, after taking from the dispatch-bag a number of documents bearing the state seal, handed the king a daintily perfumed, rose-colored note. The king would not receive it, although a light flush mounted to his brow and his eyes beamed more brightly.
„Lay that on one side,“ he said, „I cannot read it; the notes of the Miserere are still sounding in my heart, and this operatic air would but create a discord. We will proceed to read the dispatches.“
After these fearful hours of excitement followed a general lassitude, a positive physical necessity for rest. But, alas! there was something which drove sleep from their eyelids, and increased the weariness of their bodies. This was hunger. The pandours had thoroughly plundered the Prussian camp; they had taken not only the baggage of the poor soldiers, but all their provisions.
The Prussians, who had obtained so glorious a triumph in the morning, were now looking forward to a day of fasting, while the Austrians, in spite of their defeat, were consoling themselves with the provisions which they had taken from the Prussians. Happy was he who had a piece of bread in his knapsack, or whose tent had been overlooked or forgotten by the plunderers; but few had been so fortunate, and these in the egotism of hunger refused to share their precious treasure, even with their dearest friend.
King Frederick was not among the fortunate. The victory was his, but his laurel-wreath could not be transformed into bread. He had said in vain to his generals and adjutants, „We will dine.“ There was nothing to set before the king.
When General Rothenberg brought this disagreeable news to the king, he said, laughing gayly: „Let us imagine ourselves to be Catholics, my friends, for the present, and it will be quite in order that we should fast on the day of a glorious victory. I will be quite contented with a piece of bread, and I suppose that can be found somewhere for the King of Prussia.“
But General Rothenberg's order to the royal cook to satisfy the simple demand of his master was in vain. The cook had nothing, neither meat, fruit, nor bread.
„I will not return empty-handed to the king,“ said Rothenberg, with tears in his eyes. „I would sooner part with my last ducat to the first soldier I meet who has a piece of bread.“
The general then passed, with inquisitive glances, through the group of soldiers who were talking over the events of the last few hours. At last he perceived a soldier who was not talking, but was ogling a piece of bread which he seemed preparing to devour. With a hasty spring the general was at his side, his hand upon the bread.
„I will give you two ducats for this piece of bread, my friend.“
„Two ducats! what should I do with two ducats?“ he asked, with a scornful laugh. „I cannot eat your ducats, general, and my bread is more precious to me than a handful of ducats.“
„If you will not give it for gold, then give it for love,“ cried the general. „For love of your king who is hungry, and has nothing to satisfy his craving.“
The countenance of the soldier, which had been so smiling, became earnest, and he murmured thoughtfully to himself, „The king has no bread!“
„The king is hungry,“ repeated Rothenberg, almost imploringly.
„The king is hungry,“ murmured the soldier, sadly, as he glanced at the bread in his hand. Then, with quiet determination, he cut the loaf in two pieces, and handing one to the general, he said, „I will give you half of my bread, that is really all I can do for the king. Take it, general, the matter is settled. I will give no more.“
„I desire no more,“ said Rothenberg, as he hurried off with the bread to the newly-erected tent of the king.
The soldier looked smilingly after him, but suddenly his countenance became overcast, he was seized with a fearful idea--suppose the general had deceived him, and the bread was not for the king? He must know, he must convince himself that the statement was true. He followed the general rapidly, and soon overtook him. Rothenberg perceived him, and understood instantly why he had followed him. Smilingly he entered the presence of the king.
„My king, I am here, and bring what you demanded, a piece of bread.“
„Ah, that means renewed strength,“ said the king, as he received the bread and commenced eating it with evident satisfaction. „How did you procure this bread for me, my friend?“
„Sire, I obtained it of a soldier, who refused to sell it, but who gladly gave it to me when he heard it was for the king. Afterward he conceived a doubt that I had deceived him, and that I had obtained his treasure for my own gratification. He followed me, and I wager he is standing without longing to know if the king is really eating his bread.“
„I will gratify his desire,“ said Frederick, smiling, as he raised the curtain of the tent, and stood in the opening.
There stood the soldier, staring at the tent, but he trembled when he perceived the king. Frederick nodded to him most kindly, and proceeded to cut the bread which he held in his hand.
„I thank you for your bread,“ he said; „my friend, you must ask some favor of me. Think what you would wish.“
„Oh! I need not think,“ the soldier cried joyfully. „If I may wish for something, it shall be the position of magistrate in my native land in Prussia.“
„When peace is declared, your wish shall be gratified,“ said the king to the delighted soldier, and then bowing graciously, Frederick reentered the tent.
„Now my friend, my Pylades, we will allow ourselves an hour of rest, of recreation; I think we have earned it. Come and read aloud to me.“
„What shall I read to your majesty?“ asked Rothenberg, evidently embarrassed.
„You may read from Horace.“
„Your majesty does not know--“ said Rothenberg, hesitatingly.
„What do I not know?“
„That the pandours have carried off your camp library.“
„What! my books too?“ demanded the king, and a cloud darkened his brow. „What can the pandours and Croats do with my poor books? Could they not content themselves with my treasure and my silver-ware? Must they take what is so worthless to them, and so precious to me?“
Then, with bent brows, his hands crossed behind him, he paced back and forth in the narrow tent. Suddenly arresting his steps, he glanced around the tent, as if in search of something. „Biche is not here,“ he said quietly; „bring Biche to me, my friend.“
But General Rothenberg did not move.
„Well!“ exclaimed the king.
„Sire, they have taken Biche with them also.“
„Biche also, my faithful friend, my pet!“ cried the king, with much emotion, as he again began his walk. At length, approaching the general, he placed both hands upon his shoulder and looked tenderly into his eyes. „I have my friend,“ he said gently, „why should I be troubled about my books or my dog? I will send to Berlin and have the books replaced, and I will ransom Biche. They cannot refuse to restore the faithful animal to me.“
There was an expression of such anxiety on the king's features, that Rothenberg was much moved.
„I do not doubt, sire,“ he said, „that your favorite will be returned to you. Your majesty may well trust to that Providence which has vouchsafed you so glorious a victory.“
The king replied, smiling: „I will tell you a secret, my friend. I deserved to be overcome in this battle, for I had weakened my army too much by detachments. Nothing but the skill of my generals and the bravery of my troops saved me from a defeat. Something is also due to the avarice of the pandours and Croats; a branch of our laurel-wreath belongs justly to Nadasti and Trenck. It is most fortunate that the courier who brought those last dispatches from Berlin, did not arrive during the battle. He would certainly have been captured by the pandours, and my dispatches lost. My friend, do you not see how Providence marks out for me the path of duty? A king dare not waste a moment in dreams or idle pleasures. I wished to live an hour for myself, when I should have been reading these dispatches. We will go to work; here is the key of the dispatch bag; open it and take out the letters.“
The king then seated himself before the common deal table which stood in the centre of the tent, and assorted the papers which Rothenberg handed to him.
„We will first read the letters from our friends,“ said the king, placing the dispatches and papers on one side. „Here are letters from D'Argens, and from Knobelsdorf, but none from Duhan, or Jordan, or Kaiserling. What does that mean? I fear that all is not right. Ah! here is a letter for you, my friend, in the handwriting of Duhan. He writes to you, and not to me. Read, Rothenberg, and tell me its contents.“
The king then opened one of his own letters, but it was evident that it did not occupy his attention. He raised his eyes every few seconds to look at the general, who had become very pale on first opening his letter, and whose countenance now bore an expression of pain. Frederick could no longer endure this silence. He arose hastily, and approached Rothenberg.
„My friend,“ he said, „Duhan has written something to you that he would not write to me--something most painful. I see by your countenance.“
„Your majesty is right; my letters contain most distressing intelligence.“
„Ah!“ murmured the king, as he turned from Rothenberg, „I fear I have not the strength to support this coming trial.“ After a pause, he continued: „Now, my friend, tell me, are my mother and sisters well?“
„Sire, the entire royal family are well.“
„Your intelligence, then, relates to my friends. Two of them are ill--yes, two. How is Jordan? You do not answer--you weep. How is Jordan?“
„Sire, Jordan is dead.“
„Dead!“ cried the king, as he sank powerless upon his chair, and covered his face with his hands. „Dead! my best, my dearest friend is dead?“
„His death was as bright and peaceful as his life,“ said Rothenberg. „His last word was a farewell to your majesty, his last act was to write to his king. Here is the letter, sire.“
The king silently received the letter from Rothenberg. Two great tears ran slowly down his checks, and, falling on the letter, obliterated some words of the address. „Jordan's hand wrote these words for the last time; this idle title 'his majesty'--and my tears have washed it away. Jordan! Jordan I am no longer a king, but a poor, weak man who mourns for his lost friend.“
He pressed the paper passionately to his lips; then placed it in his bosom, and turned once more to Rothenberg.
„Tell me the rest, my friend; I am resigned to all things now.“
„Did you not say, sire, that you had left two friends ill in Berlin?“
„Jordan and Kaiserling. You do not mean that Kaiserling also--oh, no, no! that is impossible! Jordan is dead, and I knew that he must die; but Kaiserling will recover--I feel, I know it.“
„Your majesty,“ said Rothenberg, „if I were a pious priest, I would say Kaiserling has recovered, for his soul has returned to God.“
„Kaiserling dead also! Rothenberg, how could you find the courage to tell me this? Two friends lost in a moment of time.“ The king said nothing more. His head sank upon his breast, and he wept bitterly. After a time he raised his head, and said, as if to himself: „My two friends! They were my family--now I am orphaned. Sorrow will make a desert of my heart, and men will call me cold and heartless. They will not know that my heart is a graveyard, wherein my friends lie buried.“
The tears ran slowly down his cheeks as he uttered this death-wail. So deep was the grief depicted on the countenance of the king, that Rothenberg could no longer restrain himself. He rushed to the king, and, sinking on his knees beside him, seized his hands and covered them with tears and kisses.
„Oh, my king, my hero! cease to mourn, if you do not wish to see me die of grief.“
The king smiled mournfully, as he replied: „If one could die of grief, I would not have survived this hour.“
„What would the world think could they see this great conqueror forgetting his triumphs and indulging such grief?“
„Ah, my friend, you desire to console me with the remembrance of this victory! I rejoice that I have preserved my land from a cruel misfortune, and that my troops are crowned with glory. But my personal vanity finds no food in this victory. The welfare and the happiness of my people alone lie on my heart--I think not of my own fleeting fame.“
„The fame of my king is not fleeting. It will live in future years,“ cried the general.
The king shrugged his shoulders almost contemptuously. „Only death stamps fame upon kings' lives. For the present, I am content to fulfil my duties to the best of my ability. To be a true king, a monarch must be willing to resign all personal happiness. As for me, Rothenberg, on this day, when I, as a king, am peculiarly fortunate, my heart is wrung by the loss of two dear friends. The man must pay for the happiness of the king. But,“ said the king, after a pause, „this is the dealing of the Almighty; I must submit silently. Would that my heart were silent! I will tell you something, my friend. I fear that I was unjust to Machiavelli. He was right--only a man with a heart of iron can be a king, for he alone could think entirely of his people.“
„How suffering and full of grief must my king be to speak thus! You have lost two dear friends, sire. I also mourn their loss, but am suffering from a still deeper grief. I have lost the love of my king. I have lost faith in the friendship of my Frederick,“ said Rothenberg, sighing deeply.
„My Rothenberg,“ said the king, with his deep, tender voice, „look at me, and tell me what men call you, when they speak of you and me?“
„I hope they call me your majesty's most faithful servant.“
„No, they call you my favorite, and what they say is true. Vox populi vox Dei. Come to my heart, my favorite.“
„Ah! my king, my prince, my friend,“ cried Rothenberg, enthusiastically, as he threw himself into the arms of the king.
They stood long thus, heart pressed to heart; and who that had seen them, the king and the hero, the conquerors of the day, would have imagined that their tears were not the tears of happiness and triumph, but of suffering and love?
„And now,“ said Frederick, after a pause, „let me again be king. I must return to my duties.“
He seated himself at the table, and Rothenberg, after taking from the dispatch-bag a number of documents bearing the state seal, handed the king a daintily perfumed, rose-colored note. The king would not receive it, although a light flush mounted to his brow and his eyes beamed more brightly.
„Lay that on one side,“ he said, „I cannot read it; the notes of the Miserere are still sounding in my heart, and this operatic air would but create a discord. We will proceed to read the dispatches.“
Dieses Kapitel ist Teil des Buches Berlin and Sans-Souci; or, Frederick the Great and his friends. Book III.