CHAPTER X. IN THE CASTLE AT DRESDEN.
The Queen Maria Josephine of Poland, Princess elect of Saxony, paced her room violently; and with deep emotion and painful anxiety she listened to every noise which interrupted the stillness that surrounded her.
“If he should be discovered,” she murmured softly, “should this letter be found, all is betrayed, and I am lost.”
She shuddered, and even the paint could not conceal her sudden pallor. She soon raised herself proudly erect, and her eyes resumed their usual calm expression.
“Bah! lost,” she said, shrugging her shoulders, “who will dare to seize a queen and condemn her for fighting for her honor and her country? Only the insolent and arrogant Margrave of Brandenburg could have the temerity to insult a queen and a woman in my person, and he, thank God, is crushed and will never be able to rally. But where is Schonberg,” she said, uneasily; “if he does not come to-day, all is lost—all!”
Loud voices in the antechamber interrupted her; she listened in breathless expectation. “It is he,” she murmured, “it is Schonberg; the officer on guard forbids his entrance. What insults I endure! I am treated as a prisoner in my own castle; I am even denied the right of seeing my own servants.”
She ceased, and listened again; the voices became louder and more violent. “He is, apparently, speaking so loudly to attract my attention,” she said; “I will go to his relief.” She crossed the chamber hastily, and opened the door leading into the anteroom. “What means this noise?” she said, angrily; “how dare you be guilty of such unseemly conduct?”
Silence followed this question. The two gentlemen, who had just exchanged such angry words, were dumb, approached the queen, and bowed profoundly.
“I beg your majesty’s forgiveness,” said the Prussian officer, “my commander ordered me this morning to admit no one until he had seen your highness himself.”
“I wished to announce to your majesty,” said Schonberg, “that I had returned from my estate, and desired the favor of being again received into your service; this gentleman refused to allow me to enter.”
The queen turned upon the officer with an expression of contempt. “Am I a prisoner, sir, allowed to see no one but my jailer?”
“Your majesty favors me with a question I am unable to answer,” said the officer; “I am a soldier; and must obey the command of those above me. I know not whether your majesty is a prisoner.”
The queen reddened; she felt that, in the excitement of passion, she had forgotten her rank and dignity.
“It is true,” she said, “it is not for you to answer this question. I must demand a reply from your king. You are but a machine, moved by foreign power. I think you will not dare to keep my servants from me;” and, without allowing the confused officer time to answer, she turned to the chamberlain, Baron von Schonberg. “I am delighted to receive you again; you shall resume your service immediately, as you desire it; follow me to my room, I have an important letter to dictate to you.”
She stepped over the sill of the door, and gave the chamberlain a sign to follow her; as he approached the door, however, the officer stepped before him.
“Forgive me,” he said, in a pleading tone; “I have strict orders to admit only those who usually surround the queen; do you understand, sir, to admit no one to her majesty this morning? I can make no exceptions.”
“I belong to those who usually surround her majesty,” said the chamberlain; “I have had an eight days’ leave of absence; that cannot make an exception against me.”
“Baron von Schonberg, did I not order you to resume your service, and to follow me?” said the queen; “why do you not enter?”
“Your majesty sees that I am prevented.”
“Mercy, your highness, mercy,” pleaded the officer, “I know I am seemingly wanting in reverence toward the holy person of the queen, but I cannot act otherwise.” Maria Josephine looked proud and commanding; her eyes flashed angrily, and, with a loud voice, she exclaimed:
“I command you to allow my servant to enter! do you hear? command it as a sovereign!”
The officer stepped back.
“Go in, sir, I have not the courage to withstand this command.”
For a moment the queen’s pale face crimsoned with joy, but she suppressed her emotion immediately and motioned the chamberlain, with proud dignity, to follow.
Schonberg passed the officer, and entered the room.
“At last,” sighed Maria Josephine, as the door closed behind him—“at last this torture is at an end, and I breathe again. Speak, baron—your news!” Exhausted, she fell upon the sofa, and gazed breathlessly at the chamberlain.
“Before speaking, with your majesty’s permission, I will see if we are entirely alone—if no one is listening.”
He stepped softly around the room, and searched behind the curtains and furniture; then went to the door, and looked through the key-hole, to see if any one was without. He saw the officer sitting motionless, at the other end of the anteroom. Satisfied with this, he was about to open the other door, but the queen called him back.
“That is unnecessary; no one can be concealed there. Now let me hear quickly what you have to say.”
“I have many things to tell you,” said the chamberlain, triumphantly. “All our undertakings have been most successful. We may hope they will be crowned with the most desirable results.”
“Praise to God and the holy saints!” murmured the queen. “Speak, speak! tell me all!”
“After I left your majesty, eight days ago, I went first to my estate, which, as your highness knows, lies near Bautzen, and in the immediate neighborhood of the King of Prussia’s camp. Disguised as a peasant, with my little flock of sheep, I entered the Prussian camp unchallenged. I wish your majesty could have had the satisfaction of seeing what I saw. Your royal heart would have been gladdened at the sight of those starved, exhausted, and desperate troops which Prince Augustus William led back from Zittau to his august brother, the great Frederick. You would have acknowledged with delight that such discouraged, demoralized troops could no longer withstand the splendid and victorious army of the confederates. The battle of Collin dug their graves, and the pass of Gabol made their coffins.”
“And the Saxon dragoons decided the battle of Collin?” said the queen, with sparkling eyes. “Go on! tell me more. Did you speak with the king’s chamberlain, Anderson?”
“Yes, your majesty, and I found him faithful. I gave him the diamond ring which your majesty was so gracious as to send him. He was delighted with this costly present, and swore he would let no opportunity pass of serving you. I told him how he might safely write to me. He will inform us of all that takes place in the Prussian camp, and of all the important movements of the king.”
“You are convinced of his integrity?” said the queen. “Entirely convinced; he loves money, and serves us for his own interests. He will be ready for any act, if we balance it with gold.” The eyes of the queen sparkled, and her countenance had a threatening and passionate expression; her Spanish blood was moved, and rushed in fever streams to her heart. “Is he ready for any act?” she repeated. “Perhaps we could make a decisive trial of his willingness; but of that, later—continue.”
“I learned from Anderson, that King Frederick intends to force the confederates to another battle. When I left the camp, the king had distributed rations to his army, and was to leave the next morning, to encounter Daun and Radasdy.” The queen laughed mockingly. “He then thirsts for a second Collin. As his grave is open and his coffin made, he wishes to get the Austrian grave-diggers to bury him. Well, we will not deny him this last service of love.”
“After leaving the Prussian camp,” continued the chamberlain, “I threw off my disguise, and hastened with post-horses to where Daun and Radasdy were quartered.”
“And you saw them?”
“I saw them; I was fortunate enough to be able to deliver your majesty’s letters to General Radasdy, and I can now give your highness the general’s answer, and some other important papers.” He drew a small etui from his bosom, out of which he took a penknife; then taking his hat, ripped off the gold galloon, cut the rim, and drew a paper from between the fur and the inner lining, which he handed to the queen, with a profound bow. While the queen was occupied breaking the seal and reading the letter, the chamberlain was busily engaged in restoring his hat to its former proportions. The queen’s pale face brightened more and more as she read; with joy and triumph she glanced from the paper at the chamberlain, and said, with a brilliant smile: “You are really a messenger of peace; a time will come when I can better reward your faithful services than by words. I beg you to open that door, and call Father Guarini.” The chamberlain obeyed her command, and Father Guarini entered. He greeted Schonberg with a gracious nod, then fixed his dark and piercing eyes upon the queen, who arose humbly to receive him. “I hope, venerable father, that you have heard the news, brought by our faithful baron?” said the queen, in a soft voice. “I have heard!” replied the Jesuit father, solemnly; “I have heard that God has delivered these heretics into our hands. We are the chosen people to free the world of these blasphemous adversaries of the Church.”
“What is your meaning?” asked the queen, with apparent surprise. Father Guarini looked at her significantly; a cruel smile played upon his thin, colorless lips. “My daughter, we understand each other fully,” said he, in a soft, low voice; “soul speaks to soul in such a crisis as this. When the baron handed you this letter, when he told you that the chamberlain of the King of Prussia was faithful to our holy cause, ready for any act you might approve, a door separated us; I could not look upon your countenance, and yet, my daughter, I read the secret thoughts of your heart. I saw your eyes sparkle, your lips smile, and understood your holy purpose.” The queen trembled, and stepped shudderingly back. “Holy father,” she murmured, “have compassion with a sinful thought, which I suppressed quickly, and which I will never listen to again.”
“Why do you call it a sinful thought?” said the priest, with a diabolical smile. “All weapons are blessed and made holy by God, when employed against heretics. The poison of the hemlock and the opium-plant is part of God’s holy creation. He made them as weapons for the just against the unjust, and, when used for pious purposes, they are sanctified means of grace. Be not ashamed of your great thought, my daughter; if Anderson is faithful, as the chamberlain asserts, with God’s help we will soon be able to bring this war to a close, and crush this unbelieving horde.”
“Still, I pray you still, my father,” murmured the queen; “my whole soul shudders at this frightful suggestion; let us not speak of this again, let us forget it.”
“Let us not speak of it, but let us not forget it,” murmured the priest, with a malicious smile. The queen said hastily: “Father, such fearful weapons are not necessary for the destruction of our enemies. Frederick of Prussia can never rally—he stands alone, has not a single ally in Germany. This is the important news brought me by the baron, which I now communicate to you. We have succeeded in a great enterprise; a mighty work has been completed by us and our allies in the cloister of Zeven. This has been achieved by our ambassador, the pious Duke of Lynar, and we will triumph in a glittering and bloodless victory. Every German prince who has heretofore stood by the traitor and heretic, Frederick of Prussia, has, at the command and menace of the emperor, fallen off from him, and dare no longer lend him help or influence. The men of Hesse, of Brunswick, of Gotha, who were allied to Prussia, and who were just from fighting with the Hanoverians against Soubise and Richelieu, have laid down their arms and returned home. They have solemnly bound themselves in the convention of the cloister of Zeven never again to bear arms for the heretical and rebellious King of Prussia, who is excommunicated by the German emperor and the holy Pope at Rome. The contest between the Hanoverians and our French ally is ended, and a cessation of hostilities determined upon. Unconditional peace is indeed indefinitely declared. The Hanoverians remain inactive on the Elbe; the Duke of Cumberland, leader of the English troops, has returned to Loudon, [Footnote: When the Duke of Cumberland returned to Loudon, after the convention at the cloister of Zeven, his father, whose favorite he had been up to this time, received him with great coldness, and said before all his ministers: “Here is my son who has ruined me and disgraced himself.” The duke had to resign all his honors, and died a few years later, despised by the whole nation.] and his adversary, the Duke de Richelieu, to Paris. The French troops now in Germany, under the command of the Prince Soubise, have no other enemy to attack than Frederick, the natural enemy of us all. The King of Prussia, who stands alone, has no other ally.”
“No ally but himself,” interrupted a loud, powerful voice. The queen turned and saw General von Fink, the Prussian commander of Dresden. He had opened the door noiselessly, and had heard the queen’s last words. Maria Josephine paled with anger, and stepping forward to meet him, with head erect, she looked as if she would trample him under foot. “Sir,” she said, scarcely able to control her passion, and at the same time trembling with terror, “who gave you permission to enter this room?”
“My sovereign, the King of Prussia,” said the general, placing himself before her with stiff military courtesy. “I come not from idle curiosity, but on important business, and your majesty must pardon me if you find it disagreeable.”
He made a sign toward the door, and immediately an officer and four soldiers appeared at the threshold. The commander pointed to the chamberlain, Von Schonberg, who, pale and trembling, endeavored to conceal himself behind the wide dress of the queen.
“Arrest that man, and take him off!” said the general.
Schonberg uttered a cry of alarm, and disappeared behind the satin robe of the queen.
“What, sir! you dare to force yourself into my room, and to arrest my servant?” cried the queen, angrily.
The general shrugged his shoulders.
“We are living in perilous times, and every man must defend himself from his enemies. ‘Tis true your chamberlain sold some good sheep to our army, but it appears to have been a fraudulent transaction; for this reason, I arrest him, and send him to Berlin for trial. There it will be difficult for him to carry on his correspondence with the traitorous chamberlain of the king.”
The general ceased speaking, and gazing at the pale, disturbed group before him, enjoyed their horror and consternation for a moment.
The queen was greatly embarrassed, and pressed her lips firmly together to suppress a cry of terror. By her side stood Father Guarini, whose face had assumed a livid pallor, and whose dark eyes were fixed in bitter hatred upon the general. Behind the queen the terrified face of the chamberlain was seen, his insignificant figure being entirely concealed by the queen’s robes.
“Baron von Schonberg,” said General Fink, “I order you to come forward and to submit to your arrest. Out of respect to her majesty the queen, you will be quiet. I should be unfortunately forced to act with violence if you do not yield without a struggle.”
The chamberlain advanced with dignity, bowing profoundly to the queen. He said, in a trembling voice:
“I must beg your majesty graciously to dismiss me from your service. I must obey this gentlemen, who, as it appears, is master in the castle.”
The queen was for a moment speechless; her voice was lost, and her eyes were filled with tears. She said, after a long pause:
“Will you rob me of my faithful servant? You dragged Baroness Bruhl and Countess Ogliva to Warsaw, and now you will deprive me of the services of this tried and constant friend.”
“I obey the commands of my king,” said the general, “and I believe your majesty must see the justice of this arrest. Had the baron been captured in camp, he would have been shot at once as a spy. I arrest him here and send him to Berlin, that he may defend himself against the charge of being a traitor.”
The queen breathed heavily, she had regained her composure; turning to the chamberlain she said, in a voice softer and kinder than had ever been heard from her before:
“Go, my friend, and when your loyalty is called treason by out enemies, do not forget that your queen is thinking of you with gratitude, and praying for you to our heavenly Father.”
She offered the chamberlain her small, white hand; he sank upon his knees, and covered it with his tears and kisses.
“Go, my son,” said Father Guarini, laying his hand upon Schonberg’s head—“go; the Lord has chosen you as a blessed martyr for our just and holy cause. The Lord will be with you, and the holy mother Church will pray for you.”
“I go, my father—may it be granted me to die for my queen!”
Turning to the general, he delivered up his sword rather tragically, and declared himself ready to depart.
The commandant signed to the officer.
“Conduct this gentleman to the carriage, and send him with a sufficient guard to Berlin.”