Books: NAPOLEON AND BLUCHER

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The church bells were ringing, and amid their solemn peals and the
deafening cheers of the many thousands who nodded to them in the
streets, and from the windows of the houses, the young soldiers left
the Gendarmes market, escorted by the members of the municipality.
They did not, however, march directly to the Potsdam gate. They
would not leave Berlin without receiving the blessing of the Church,
and this was to be given by the man who read to them the manifesto
four days before, and who had exhorted them to comply with the call
of their country. A committee, appointed by the young volunteers,
had therefore waited on Schleiermacher, and requested him to give
the blessing of the Church to their grave undertaking, and he gladly
granted their request. The procession marched to Trinity church.
There were waiting their mothers, sisters, and brides, greeting them
with loving glances, and beckoning them to occupy the reserved
places, embracing and praying hand in hand with them for the last
time. The organ poured forth its solemn concords, and from all lips
burst forth the anthem of "In allen meinen Thaten lass ich den
Hochsten rathen." [Footnote: "In all my deeds. I let the Highest
counsel."] The last notes of the music had not yet died away, when
the noble face of Schleiermacher appeared in the pulpit. His eyes
were beaming as never before; his voice was never so fervent and
powerful, nor had he ever spoken with such irresistible eloquence,
energy, and courage, as on that day. A profound silence reigned in
the vast building; every one listened eagerly to the inspiring words
of the prophet of a new and better era, and inwardly resolved to
remember the stirring exhortations which Schleiermacher now, in
concluding his sermon, addressed to the young men, that they may
remain pure and true in the service of so righteous a cause. The
thoughts of the audience were with God; to Him their hearts had all
turned. But now Schleiermacher's voice grew softer; his eyes, which
had hitherto been raised toward heaven, looked upon the wives and
mothers, who sat in long lines before him. "Rejoice in the Lord, ye
mothers," he said, "blessed are you in having given birth to such
sons! blessed your breasts that nourished such children! God gave
them to you, and you give them to the fatherland! Rejoice in the
Lord, for He will achieve great things through them! Rejoice, and do
not weep!" But now they could restrain no longer their tears and
sobs. The words addressed to them had touched their feelings. They
felt their hearts' wounds, and wept aloud. An electric shock, as it
were, pervaded the whole assembly; not an eye remained dry, not a
heart was unmoved; even Schleiermacher's voice was tremulous when he
uttered his "Amen!"

They departed from the church to the Potsdam gate, and along the
road leading to Potsdam, continuing their march on the following
day, after being joined by the company which La Motte Fouque had
recruited in that city. The grief of their separation from their
dear ones was forgotten as they hastened toward the future--a future
of battles and victories.

"Now, no more tears, no more sighs! Let us sing a merry song!" said
the young volunteers.

"Yes. Where is a poet who can sing us a song such as we need now?"

"Fouque is here; let him sing! Yes, Fouque is among us! We have
elected him captain! He is a chivalrous soldier, and gained his
spurs in 1794, during the war against the French. He deserves to be
our captain!"

"But he deserves, too, to be our bard, for by his 'Undine' he has
also won his laurels as a poet."

"Let us have a song, brave La Motte Fouque!" shouted all the
volunteers. "There is Father Jahn, who will persuade him. Ask Fouque
to sing us a war-song!"

Jahn galloped up to the poet, who was riding in thoughtful silence
at the head of his company; it is true, he had heard the
solicitations of the young men, but continued his way, smiling and
muttering to himself. "Fouque," shouted Jahn, in his stentorian
voice; "do you not hear the requests of our bold youths? Give some
expression to the enthusiasm burning in their hearts. Let us have a
song, then, my poet!"

"Well," replied Fouque, quickly raising his head, and smiling on his
friend; "I have just composed a poem. Listen to me, my friends!" He
turned his horse, and in a loud voice commanded the volunteers to
halt.

"You wish me to sing. I will give you a song just as it has sprung
up in my heart during the march, and I have also composed the air.
When I have finished repeat it with me!" And he began to sing in a
powerful voice:

"Frisch auf zum frohlichen Jagen,
Es ist schon an der Zeit!
Es fangt schon an zu tagen,
Der Kampf ist nicht mehr weit!"

"Auf lasst die Faulen liegen,
Gonnt ihnen ihre Ruh;
Wir rucken mit Vergnugen
Dem lieben Konig zu."

"Der Konig hat gesproehen:
Wo sind meine Jager nun?
Da sind wir aufgebrochen,
Ein wackeres Werk zu thun."

"Wir woll'n ein Heil erbauen
Fur all das deutsche Land,
Im frohen Gottvertrauen
Mit rustig starker Hand."

"Schlaft ruhig nun, Ihr Lieben!
Am vaterlichen Heerd,
Derweil mit Feindeshieben
Wir ringen Keck bewehrt."

"O Wonne die zu schlutzen,
Die uns das Liebste sind!
Hei! Lasst Kanonen hlitzen.
Ein frommer muth gewinnt!"

"Die mehrsten zieh'n einst wieder
Zuruck in Siegerreih'n;
Dann toen Jubellieder
Dess' wird'ne Freude sein!"

"Wie gluh'n davon die Herzen
So froh und stark und weich.
Wer fallt, der kann's verschmerzen,
Der hat das Himmelreich!"

[Footnote: La Motte Fouque composed this poem on the march from
Potsdam to Breslau, whither he conducted the first companies of
volunteers. It was the first song of liberty published in 1813:

Mount! mount! for sacred freedom fight!
The battle soon must be.
The night is past, and red the light
Streams o'er the dewy lea.

Up! let the coward idlers sleep!
Who envies them their rest?
We march with joyful hearts to keep
Our honored king's request.

To us he said: "My brave ones all!--
My chasseurs! where are they?"
Responsive to his patriot call
We hastened to obey.

We vowed to strike with mighty hand
As it becomes the free--
A safeguard for our native land
With Heaven's grace to be.

Sleep calmly, wives and children dear
To God your sorrows tell.
The hour, alas! of blood is near,
But all your fears dispel.

Approved we hasten to the field;
What though the strife begins!
'Tis joy our loved ones thus to shield,
For pious courage wins.

Returning, all may not be found!
But some, in glory's grave,
Shall never hear the songs resound
Of those they died to save.

Come, glowing heart! despise the pain
Of death; for, evermore,.
Shall he who falls, a kingdom gain
On heaven's eternal shore!]

CHAPTER XXIII.

LEONORA PROHASKA.

Old Sergeant Prohaska sat sad and musing in his old easy-chair near
the stove; before him lay a copy of the Vossische Zeitung, which he
had just perused. He laid it aside with a sigh; supporting his head
on the leathern cushion, he puffed clouds of smoke from his short
clay pipe. Close to him, at the small table standing in the niche of
the only window which admitted light into the small, dark room, sat
a young girl, busily engaged in drawing threads from a large piece
of linen, and putting them carefully on the pile of lint on the
table. She was scarcely eighteen years old, but her noble, pale
countenance wore an expression of boldness and energy; her forehead
was high, and vigorous thoughts seemed to dwell there. Large black
eyes were flashing under her finely-arched eyebrows, which almost
touched each other above her beautifully-chiselled, slightly-curved
nose. Round her crimson lips was an expression of melancholy, and
her cheeks seemed to have been bleached by grief rather than
sickness. She was tall and well formed, but her whole appearance was
more remarkable for the stern and heroic character it indicated than
for grace and loveliness. While she was thus at work, and engaged in
preparing lint, troubled thoughts seemed to pass from time to time
across her face, and she raised her eyes to heaven with an angry and
reproachful expression. She impulsively cast aside the linen, and
jumped up. "No, father," she exclaimed, drawing a deep breath, "I
cannot bear it any longer!"

"What is it that you cannot bear any longer, Leonora?" exclaimed her
father, surprised.

"To sit here and prepare lint while the whole world is astir, while
every heart is swelling with patriotism and warlike enthusiasm! And
I cannot do any thing, I cannot join in the universal exultation--I
can do nothing but prepare lint! Father, it is heart-rending, and I
cannot bear it!"

"Must not I bear it?" asked her father in a tremulous voice. "Must
not I sit still behind the stove, while all my old comrades are
taking up arms and marching into the field? My right leg was buried
at Jena, and I must limp about now as a miserable cripple; I cannot
even take revenge for the disgrace of Jena; I cannot even pay the
French for my leg by cutting off the heads of some of their accursed
soldiers. I am a cripple, while others are hastening into the field!
When _I_ must bear that, a girl like you ought assuredly not to
complain."

"Father," said Leonora, with flashing eyes, "do not despise me
because I am a girl! Did you not tell me of the heroic women of
Spain and the Tyrol, and of their glorious deeds? Did you not tell
me that, by their intrepid patriotism, they had set a sublime
example to the men. and that by their influence their country was to
be saved? Was not the heroine of Saragossa a woman? Did not women
and girls fight like heroes in the gorges of the Tyrol?"

"Yes, that is true," exclaimed her father, smiling, "but then they
were Spanish and Tyrolese girls. They have fire in their veins, and
love their country with an undying patriotism."

"Ah, one need not be born in the South to have warm blood,"
exclaimed Leonora, ardently, "It is not the sun that gives love of
country, and patriotic hearts may throb even under the snow." "Have
you such a heart, Leonora?" asked her father, casting on her a long
and searching look.

"Father," she said, pressing her hands on her bosom, "there is
something burning here like fire; and at times when I hear how all
are rallying round the flag--and how the warlike enthusiasm is
pervading the whole country, I feel as if the blood would burst from
my heart and head. It is true I am no Spanish girl, but I am a
Prussian girl!"

"Ah, I would you were a Prussian boy!" sighed her father, shaking
his head. "If you were, I believe you would look well in the ranks
of the volunteers; they would not likely reject the young soldier of
eighteen."

"I am quite tall and strong, although I am but a girl," exclaimed
Leonora, with flashing eyes; "I have seen among the soldiers who
started yesterday many volunteers who were a great deal shorter and
slighter than I am."

"But, at all events, they had shorter hair and a stronger voice than
you have," laughed her father.

"Oh, I can cut off my hair," she said, quickly; "and as for my
voice, Kalbaum, the tailor, who accompanied the volunteers, has a
voice no stronger than mine, and yet he was accepted. And then--"

"Hush!" interposed her father quickly. "I hear your mother coming.
Do not speak of such things when she is present. It would alarm her.
Bold thoughts must be locked up in our hearts, for, if we speak of
them, it looks like braggadocio; we are only allowed to speak of
bold deeds. Do not forget that, my daughter, and give me a kiss!"
Leonora hastened to her father, and encircling him with her arms,
pressed a glowing kiss on the lips of the old invalid.

"Father," she whispered, "I believe you understand me, and can read
my thoughts!"

"God alone is able to read our thoughts," said her father, solemnly,
"and it is only from Him that we must not conceal any thing. But
what is that? Is not your mother weeping outside?" And old Prohaska
jumped up and limped, as quickly as his wooden leg permitted, toward
the door.

At this moment the door was noisily opened, and a woman appeared on
the threshold. Behind her was a tall, slender, and pale boy,
scarcely fourteen years of age. Both entered the room with tearful
eyes and loud lamentations.

"Wife, what is the matter--what has happened?" exclaimed Old
Prohaska, anxiously.

"Why do you weep, my brother?" asked Leonora, hastening to the boy,
and clasping him in her arms. He laid his head on her breast and
wept aloud.

"What has happened?" wailed his mother. "All our hopes are blasted;
we have been rejected!"

"Rejected? Where? And by whom?" asked the invalid, in amazement.

"By the military commission!" cried his wife, drying her tears with
her long apron.

"What did you want of the military commission? Did you desire to
become a vivandiere, old woman?"

"No, but Charles wanted to enlist, father! Yes, you must know all
now. We thought we would prepare a joyous surprise for you, but the
good Lord and the military commission would not let us do so. Look,
old man! I perceived very well how painful it was to you, and how it
was gnawing at your heart, that your wooden leg compels you to
remain here at Potsdam, and prevents your marching out with the
soldiers who are hurrying to the headquarters of their king at
Breslau."

"Yes, it is true, it is very sad! My general, old Blucher, under
whom I fought in 1806, is also at Breslau, and what will he say when
he looks for his old hussars of 1806, and does not find Prohaska! He
will say, 'Prohaska has become a coward--a lazy old good-for-
nothing.'"

"No, father, he will not say so," exclaimed Leonora, ardently; "if
he knows you, he cannot say so.--But speak, mother, tell us what
makes you weep, and what has so afflicted my dear brother?"

"Both of us noticed father's secret grief, and comprehended how
painful it was for him to be unable to participate in the war." said
her mother. "I had not mentioned it to any one, and to God alone I
had complained how grievous it is that I have no full-grown son,
who, instead of his father, might serve his king at the present
time. Last night, when all of you were asleep, Charles came to my
bedside. 'Mother,' he said to me, 'mother, I must tell you
something! I will and must enlist! It would be an eternal disgrace
for me to stay at home, particularly as father is disabled, and
cannot fight any more. Mother, the honor of the family is at stake;
I must enlist or die!'"

"Ah, you are a true brother of mine," exclaimed Leonora, with a
radiant face, drawing the boy closer to her heart.

"And what did you reply to Charles, mother?" asked the invalid.

"'You are my only son, and my heart would break if I should lose
you. But you are right; it would be a disgrace for our whole family
if it did not furnish a single soldier to the king and the
fatherland, and if no substitute should enlist in your father's
place, and revenge him on the French for crippling hiin at Jena. I
will go with you to the military commission to-morrow, and we will
pray the gentlemen to accept you, although you are still under age.
We will pray them until they overlook your youth and enroll your
name. But say nothing about it to father until we have been
successful; then, tell him all.'"

"And you really went with him to the commission?" asked the old man,
hastily.

His wife responded by nodding and sighing, and burst again into
tears.

"Yes, father," exclaimed the boy, raising his head from Leonora's
shoulder, and drying his eyes with an angry gesture, "we went to the
military commission. We begged, implored, and wept! It was all in
vain! They said they were not allowed to accept boys of fourteen; I
was too young, and looked too feeble. In our despair we went to
Eylert, the preacher, and begged him to intercede for me. He is
always kind to me, and often praises me for my industry in preparing
for confirmation. I revealed my whole heart to him; I told him I
must consider myself disgraced, if now, that every one who is not a
coward is taking the sword, I am compelled to go to school. I told
him I should not dare to raise my eyes, and should think all the
inhabitants would point with their fingers at me; the children in
the streets would deride me; and the old men would contemptuously
avert their heads when I passed them."

"Ah, my beloved brother," exclaimed Leonora, enthusiastically,
"hitherto I have loved you as a child, but henceforth I shall love
as a hero!"

"But it was all in vain," cried Charles, sobbing aloud in his grief
and anger. "Even M. Eylert could not give us any comfort. He said it
was impossible for the commission to accept me, for, though they
overlooked my youth and my somewhat feeble health, they could not
enroll me because I had not yet been confirmed. But as we begged so
very hard, and shed so many tears, M. Eylert had at last pity on me,
and went with us once more to the military commission. But it was of
no avail. I am under age and have no certificate of confirmation,
and M. Eylert's intercession was fruitless. [Footnote: Eylert,
"Frederick William III.," vol. ii., p. 160.] They rejected me!
Father, what am I to do now? I am doomed to remain here at Potsdam,
with my tall figure, which will charge me with cowardice in the eyes
of every one, while my schoolmates, who are much shorter than I am,
are allowed to enlist and fight for their country. Oh, mother, why
am I not your eldest child'? Then I should he preserved from the
disgrace of running about as a coward, or of being obliged to have
my certificate of birth constantly in my pocket!"

"My brother," said Leonora, laying her strong white hand on her
brother's light hair, "if I could give you the four years by which I
am older than you, I would do so, though it should cost me my life,
for I comprehend your grief. But I am innocent of your affliction,
and I pray you, therefore, not to be angry with me. It was God's
will that I should be older, and have your place. You must take into
consideration that the war may last a long time; six months hence
you will be confirmed, and then it will be time for you to enlist in
the king's army, and fight for liberty. Besides, my dear brother, it
is not even settled yet whether all these warlike preparations are
really intended for France. To be sure, every one is in hope that
such is the case, but as yet no one is sure of it, for the king has
not declared his intentions, and he is still at peace with France."

"No, the king has declared his intentions," cried Charles,
impetuously. "And that is exactly what causes my distress and my
despair. It is certain now that there will be war with France. You
do not know, then, what has occurred?"

"No," exclaimed father and daughter at the same time, "we do not--we
have not yet seen any one. Tell us the news, Charles."

"Well, we heard already at the office of the military commission
that a courier had just arrived from Breslau, and brought a
proclamation, addressed by the king to his people; they said it had
immediately been sent to the printing-office, and was to be posted
on all the street corners. The courier, besides, brought the news
that the Emperor of Russia had arrived at Breslau, and that the
first visit was to Baron von Stein, who secretly lived at Breslau."

"Hurrah!" shouted old Prohaska. "Prussia is safe now, for Baron von
Stein is back again, and he will know how to expel Napoleon and his
French from the country. Where Minister von Stein is he tolerates no
French, and that is the reason why Bonaparte hates him, and has
always been afraid of him. My boy, this is glorious news! Stein is
back again; now we shall be all right! Have you any other news?"

"Yes, there is a great deal yet, father, but the tears burst from my
eyes when I think of it, because I am unable to participate in the
struggle."

"Oh, what is it?" begged Leonora. "What else has happened at
Breslau?"

"Well," said Charles, in a tremulous and melancholy voice, "the
courier reports that many hundreds of volunteers are arriving every
day, not only from all parts of Prussia, but the whole of Germany,
and that the city is rejoicing as though a festival were to be
celebrated, and not as though we were on the eve of a terrible war.
Above all, there is Major von Lutzow, round whose standard hosts of
young men are rallying, enlisting a corps of volunteer riflemen, to
whom he has given the name of 'The Legion of Vengeance.' They are to
wear a black uniform as sign of the sorrow and disgrace that have
weighed down the fatherland since 1806, and which they intend to
avenge before discarding it."

"Oh, that is a grand idea," exclaimed Leonora, with flashing eyes.
"To march out in mourning--to rush to the battlefield like angels of
death and shout, 'We are the legion of avengers, sent by Prussia to
atone for her disgrace! Our uniform is black, but we intend to dye
it red in the blood of the French!' And then to fight exultantly in
the thickest of the fray for the fatherland, and for our queen,
whose heart was broken by the national dishonor and wretchedness!
Oh, it must be blissful, indeed, to march with that legion to avenge
the tears of Queen Louisa, and--"

"But Leonora!" cried her mother, staring in amazement at the young
girl who stood before her with glowing cheeks, panting bosom, and
uplifted right arm, as if she had just drawn the sword--"but,
Leonora! what is the matter with you? What does your impulsiveness
mean? Has Charles infected you with his enthusiasm? Do you want to
increase the excitement and despair of the poor boy? He cannot join
the 'Legion of Venegance;' he cannot be one of Lutzow's riflemen!"

"No," said Leonora, vehemently and almost triumphantly, "HE cannot
be one of Lutzow's riflemen!"

"Leonora!" cried her father, in a warning tone, "Leonora, what are
you saying?"

She started and dropped her arm. "It is true," she muttered to
herself, "we should not betray our thoughts; God alone must know
them."

Her father limped to her, and, laying his hands on her shoulder,
looked into her excited and glowing face. "Come, my daughter," he
said, "let us go out into the street and read what the king says to
his people. For I believe the king's proclamation must have been
printed by this time. Come, Leonora!"

"No, it is unnecessary for you to go into the street for that
purpose, father," said Charles, "we have brought a copy of the
proclamation; the man who was to post them gave us one for you,
saying it would no doubt gladden your heart. Where did you leave it,
mother?"

"I put it into my pocket. Here it is!" said the mother, taking a
large printed sheet from the pocket hanging under her apron. "There,
father, read it."

The old man took the paper and handed it to Leonora.

"Read it to us, my child," he said, tenderly. "I like best to hear
from your lips what the king says to his people."

CHAPTER XXIV.

JOAN OF ORLEANS.

Leonora took the paper and read as follows, with crimson cheeks, and
her heart aglow with enthusiasm:

"To my People!--I need not state the causes of the impending war
either to my faithful people or to the Germans in general.
Unprejudiced Europe is fully aware of them. We succumbed to the
superior strength of France. The peace which wrested from me one-
half of my subjects, did not confer any blessings upon us, but
inflicted deeper wounds upon us than war itself. The enemy was bent
on exhausting the resources of the country; the principal fortresses
remained in his hands; agriculture was paralyzed, and so were the
manufactures of our cities, which had formerly reached so proud an
eminence; trade was everywhere obstructed, and the sources of
prosperity were thus almost entirely ruined. The country was rapidly
impoverished. By the most conscientious fulfilment of the
engagements I had taken upon myself, I hoped to mitigate the onerous
burdens imposed upon my people, and to convince the French emperor
at length that it was to his own advantage to leave Prussia in the
enjoyment of her independence; but my best intentions were foiled by
arrogance and perfidy; and we saw only too plainly that Napoleon's
treaties, even more than his wars, would slowly and surely ruin us.
The moment has come when all deceptions have ceased.
Brandenburgians, Prussians, Silesians, Pomeranians, Lithuanians! you
know what you have suffered for seven years past; you know what your
fate would be if we should not succeed in the struggle about to
begin. Remember the history of the past; remember the noble elector;
the great and victorious Frederick; remember what our ancestors
conquered with their blood--freedom of conscience, honor,
independence, commerce, industry, and science; remember the great
examples of our powerful allies, especially the Spaniards and the
Portuguese. Even smaller nations, for the same blessings, entered
into a desperate struggle with more powerful foes, and achieved a
glorious victory. Remember the heroic Swiss and Dutch. Great
sacrifices will be required of all classes, for our undertaking is a
great one, and the numbers and resources of our enemies are not to
be underrated. You will prefer to make these sacrifices for the
fatherland and your legitimate king rather than for a foreign ruler,
who, as is proved by many examples, would devote your sons and your
last resources to objects entirely foreign to you. Confidence in
God, courage, perseverance, and the assistance of our allies, will
crown our honest exertions with victory. But whatever sacrifices may
be required, they are not equivalent to the sacred objects for which
we make them, and for which we must fight and conquer, if we do not
wish to cease being Prussians and Germans. It is the last, decisive
effort which we make for our existence, our independence, our
prosperity. There is no other issue than an honorable peace or a
glorious overthrow. You would not shrink even from the latter, for
honor's sake. But we may confidently hope for the best. God and our
firm determination will make us victorious, and we shall then obtain
peace and the return of happier times."