“Your majesty, I was going to imitate fate,—I did not want to flatter you, either,” said Hardenberg. “I was merely going to say that fate seems to favor us suddenly. I have received letters from Mr. Fox, the English minister. King George the Third, now that he sees that Prussia is in earnest, and is preparing for war, is more inclined to form an alliance with Prussia. The first favorable symptom of this change of views is the fact that England has raised the blockade of the rivers of northern Germany; a British envoy will soon be here to make peace with Prussia, and to conclude an alliance, by virtue of which England will furnish us troops and money.”
“Would to God the envoy would arrive speedily,” sighed the king, “for we need both, auxiliaries as well as money.” [Footnote: The British envoy, Lord Morpeth, unfortunately arrived too late; it was only on the 19th of October that he reached the king’s headquarters at Weimar. But the French party, Minister Haugwitz, Lombard, and Lucchesini, managed to prevent him from obtaining an interview with the king; and dismissed him with the reply, that the results of the negotiations would depend on the issue of the battle which was about to be fought.—Vide Hausser’s “History of Germany,” vol. ii., p. 766.]
When Minister von Hardenberg left the king’s cabinet, his face was radiant with inward satisfaction, and he hastened with rapid steps to his carriage.
“To Prince Louis Ferdinand,” he said to the coachman. “As fast as the horses will run!”
Prince Louis Ferdinand was in the midst of his friends in his music-room when Minister Hardenberg entered. He was sitting at the piano and playing a voluntary. His fancy must have taken a bold flight to-day, for in the music he evoked from the keys there was more ardor, vigor, and enthusiasm than generally, and the noble features of the prince were radiant with delight. Close to him, her head leaning gently on his shoulder, sat Pauline Wiesel, the prince’s beautiful and accomplished friend, and listened with a smile on her crimson lips, and tears in her eyes, to the charming and soul-stirring melodies. In the middle of the room there stood a table loaded down with fiery wines and tropical fruits, and twelve gentlemen, most of them army officers, were seated around it. They were the military and learned friends of the prince, his daily companions, who, like Hardenberg, were always allowed to enter his rooms without being announced.
The minister hastily beckoned the gentlemen who were going to rise and salute him, to keep their seats, and hurried quickly and softly across the room toward the prince, whose back was turned to the door, and who consequently had not noticed his arrival.
“Prince,” he said, gently placing his hand on his shoulder, “it is settled now: we shall have war!”
“War!” shouted the prince, jubilantly, and rose impetuously to embrace the minister and imprint a kiss on the lips which had uttered the precious word.
“War!” exclaimed the gentlemen at the table, and emptied their glasses in honor of the news.
“War!” sighed fair Pauline Wiesel, and clinging closely to the prince’s shoulder, she whispered: “War, that is to say, I shall lose you!”