"A brilliant future!" echoed the king; "for my daughter—for the daughter of a king without a kingdom—of a man who is so poor as to be unable to gratify her just and modest wishes! She asks for money to replenish her winter wardrobe. Now, do you know what I have written to her? I have sent her five dollars, and given her at the same time the wretched consolation to be content with that sum, for it was all I could spare."
"Well," said the queen, with a gentle smile, "at all events, five dollars will enable her to buy a warm winter dress, and by and by our finances will improve."
"I do not see any such prospect," exclaimed the king, vehemently.
"All our resources are exhausted; all the public funds are gone, and even your generosity will be unable to create new ones. My noble queen, in generous self-denial, sacrifices her jewels in order to gladden and comfort others, and to lay her own contribution on the altar of her country. She did not think of herself in doing so."
"Yes, I did," said the queen, smiling, "I did think of myself. I reserved five thousand dollars, and with that sum all the bills we owed—all our debts for the household, for the stable, and the servants, have been paid. But you intended communicating two letters to me. What about the second?"
"The second," said the king, mournfully, "is a farewell from my faithful subjects in the province of Mark, whom, alas! with a heavy heart, I have absolved from their oath of allegiance, and ordered to serve another sovereign, and to obey the new King of Westphalia. I am not ashamed of confessing it, Louisa, I wept on writing to them, and on reading their reply. There it is. Read it aloud. It will do me good to hear again these touching words."
The queen unfolded the large letter, to which several official seals were attached, and read in a tremulous voice:
"Our heart was rent when we read your farewell letter, good king. We cannot believe even now that we, who always loved you so affectionately, are to cease being your subjects. As sure as we live, it was neither your fault, nor ours, that your generals and ministers were too confused after the defeat of Jena to march the dispersed divisions of the army to us, and to lead them, united with our whole people, into a struggle which, with the blessing of God, would have been successful. We would have willingly risked our lives, for you must not doubt that the blood of the ancient Cheruscians is still flowing in our veins; that we are proud of calling Hermann and Wittekind countrymen of ours, and of knowing that on our soil was that field of battle where our ancestors defeated their enemies in so decisive a manner that they never fought again. We also would assuredly have saved the fatherland, for we have, we believe, marrow in our bones, and remain uncorrupted by modern luxury and effeminacy. But no one can escape the decrees of Providence. Oh, farewell, then, our father and king! Heaven grant you more faithful generals and more sagacious ministers for the remainder of your states! You are not omniscient, and you were sometimes obliged to follow them into blind paths. Unfortunately, we must also submit to what cannot be helped. God help us! We trust our new sovereign will be a father to us, and honor and respect our language and customs, our faith and rights, as you always did, dear and beloved king! Health, joy, and peace!"
"And you call us poor and disgraced when such hearts are throbbing for us," exclaimed the queen, with radiant eyes. "No, we are rich, for our subjects love us, and even when compelled to part with you, they send you their love-greetings!"
"But I cannot reward their love; I have no means of showing how my heart appreciates it," exclaimed the king, mournfully. "Oh, Louisa, I am a poor, wretched man; my heart is desponding, and even your cheering words are unable to console it. Wherever I look, whatever plans I form, I see nowhere a prospect of change for the better. My country is occupied by hordes of foreign soldiers. My subjects, exposed to the overbearing and avarice of the French, who think they are sovereign rulers of my states, are vainly praying to their king to come to their assistance. Their courage is exhausted; their strength gone; commerce is prostrated; manufacturers and mechanics are idle; the farmers have no seed-corn, nor courage to cultivate their fields, for they know that they will be robbed of the fruits of their labor. Our soldiers walk about with bowed heads, and scarcely dare to wear their uniforms, for they remind them of Jena and Auerstadt, of the capitulation of Prenzlau, of the surrender of so many fortresses, and, like myself, they wish they had been buried on the battle-field of Jena. Want, misery, and suffering are everywhere, and I am unable to help! I must still permit the enemy to inundate my states, although it was expressly stipulated by the treaty of Tilsit that the French army was to evacuate Prussia in the course of two months. I must also permit the Emperor Napoleon (though after the conclusion of peace, and contrary to the treaty) to take New Silesia, and add her to the kingdom of Warsaw; to transform the two leagues of the new territory of Dantzic into two German miles, and, without even asking my consent, to deprive me of my property. But I am determined to suffer this injustice and humiliation no longer, and to make the last sacrifice."