Books: NAPOLEON AND BLUCHER

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"That is to say, my child, you do not wish to leave your poor old
parents?" asked Mr. Werkmeister, in great emotion. "You will stay
with them at their small house and eat the invalid's brown bread
rather than live luxuriously at the beautiful capital of Prussia?
You are right, perhaps, my child. You are the only joy of your
parents, and I was selfish, perhaps, in trying to rob them of you.
But, in doing so, I thought more of yourself, and desired to give a
better and brighter sphere to your youth. But we must all pursue the
paths which God and our conscience have marked out for us."

"Yes," exclaimed Leonora, enthusiastically, "you are right. Let me,
therefore, pursue my own path, and may Heaven accompany me! You are
not angry with me, then, godfather? You really are not? No? Now give
me your hand, godfather, and let me take leave of you with an
affectionate kiss!" She threw her arms round the old man's neck, and
kissed him tenderly.

"But you do not intend to leave immediately?" asked M. Werkmeister,
surprised. "You have not even seen my sick wife, and talk already of
taking leave?"

"Ah, I must go. I have still much to attend to, and must leave
Berlin to-night. But, tell me one thing! What is the meaning of the
inscription at your door, and why is there such a crowd in front of
your house?"

"They are reading the placard which I have hung out," said M.
Werkmeister--"the request which I addressed to all patriots."

"And what do you request of them to do, godfather?"

"I request all families, and especially all wives and affianced
brides, to bring their gold wedding-rings to me and receive iron
ones in return; and in commemoration of these times, I have had ten
thousand iron rings made, and the royal authorities approved my
scheme and intrusted me with the collection of the gold ones. My
request was published in the papers of this morning, and already
more than thirty gold rings have been exchanged. Look, here are the
iron ones. They are very neat, are they not?--the exact shape of
genuine wedding-rings; only in place of the names, the inside
contains the words, 'I gave gold for iron, 1813.' Read!"

"Oh, that is a very beautiful idea," exclaimed Leonora,
contemplating the ring which he had handed her. "Such a memento will
henceforth be the most precious ornament of all wives, and no gold
will shine so brilliantly and be so valuable as these iron rings
with which our women pledge their love to their native land. Ah,
dear godfather, I would like to ask a favor of you. I am no wife,
nor am I an affianced bride, and I have, therefore, no wedding-ring
to give you. I have nothing but my heart, and in this heart there is
no other love than that of country. Let me, therefore, offer it to
the fatherland instead of gold, and give me for it an iron ring with
the beautiful inscription: 'I gave gold for iron, 1813.'"

"There is a ring, my child; your heart is pure gold; let it remain
so; then you will well deserve your ring!" He placed it on her
finger, and she thanked him with a blissful smile.

"And now I go, dear godfather," said Leonora. "Farewell, and do not
forget me! And--"

At this moment a lady entered the room. Her dress indicated poverty,
and her face was pale and sunken, but her eyes were lit up with a
noble enthusiasm. "The wedding-rings are exchanged here?" she asked.

"Yes, here."

She quickly drew two from her finger, and handed them to M.
Werkmeister. "Take them," she cried. "One of these rings belongs to
me, the other I drew from the finger of my dear husband. Ten years
have elapsed since then; I have always worn them, and, although I
have often suffered great privations, I could never part with my
only treasure. But to-day I do so joyously. Give me my iron rings!"
She took those handed her, and placed them on her finger. "Farewell,
sir," she said. "These will be my daughter's heirloom, and I know
she will rejoice over them." She had not yet crossed the threshold
when another lady appeared, and another, and more followed in rapid
succession. The newspapers, containing the request, had been read in
the whole city; all the married women hastened to comply with it,
and to lay down their wedding-rings on the altar of the fatherland.
Leonora stood as if fascinated by the beautiful and soul-stirring
scene. With radiant eyes she gazed at the ladies who came and
received with joyous pride iron rings in exchange for gold ones--at
the young women, who, blushing and with tearful eyes, gave up their
first love-pledge--at the old matrons who came totteringly to
exchange the golden reminiscences of the days of their youth for
iron ornaments. [Footnote: On the first day about two hundred
wedding-rings were exchanged.--Vide Beitzke, vol. i.] Tears of
profound emotion fell from Leonora's eyes. She wished to embrace
these women and thank them for their patriotism.

"I will also prove to the country how ardently I love it," she said
to herself. "I will also make my sacrifices. I must go, Caroline is
waiting for me. I must buy arms for the soldiers whom I intend to
furnish." She shook hands with her godfather in silence. The crowd
in front of the door receded before her, and allowed her to pass,
filled with reverence for the women who returned from the solemn
sacrifice they had made. She passed on, absorbed in her reflections.
Once she raised her hand, and contemplated the iron ring on her
finger. "I gave gold for iron!" she said, raising her dark eyes
toward heaven. "I am now a bride, too, the bride of my country! Will
it give me only iron for the gold of my love? Only a bullet or a
sword-cut? No matter! I am the bride of the fatherland! I will live
and die for it!" She was aroused from her musings by cheers suddenly
resounding from the side of the Gendarmes Market. An immense crowd
had assembled there, and shouted frantically, their faces beaming
with joy.

"What is it?"

And a hundred jubilant voices replied: "General York is coming with
the Prussians! The king has reinstated York! The court-martial has
acquitted him!" [Footnote: York made his entry into Berlin at the
head of the Prussian troops on the 17th of March, 1813, and was
received with boundless enthusiasm.]

"Long live noble General York!" shouted the crowd. "York was the
first man to take heart, and brave the French!"

"York is coming to Berlin!" shouted others, hurrying from the
adjoining streets to the market-place. "York, with his Prussians, is
outside the King's Gate, and to-morrow he will make his entry into
Berlin!"

"Long live the brave general! All Berlin will meet him to-morrow,
and cheer him who first drew his sword against the French! The new
era is dawning on Prussia!"

"Yes, the new era is dawning on Prussia!" exclaimed Leonora. "We
have long walked in sadness. But morning is breaking--the morning of
freedom. Now we shall boldly raise our heads. The country has called
us, and we all have heard the call, and are ready to conquer or die.
Hail, brave York! The time of thraldom is past! We shall rise from
the dust, and the Germans will now reconquer the sacred right of
being Germans. Oh, my heart, rejoice! I am no longer a girl, I am
one of Lutzow's riflemen, and to-morrow I shall go to Breslau, and
add another soldier to the Legion of Vengeance. Farewell, Leonora
Prohaska, farewell! Now you are a man, and your soul must be manly,
strong, and hopeful. Long live Prussia!"

WAR AND AN ARMISTICE.

CHAPTER XXVI.

THEODORE KORNER.

Another corps of volunteers leaving Berlin had arrived at Breslau,
and just alighted from their wagons on the large market-place,
called the "Ring," and received their tickets for quarters at the
city hall. Two of these volunteers, emerging from the building,
descended arm in arm the steps of the front staircase. They were two
young men of slight forms and strangely youthful appearance. Not the
faintest down was around their fresh lips, and white and delicate
were their foreheads. But no one was surprised at their tender age,
for people were accustomed nowadays to see lads emulate manhood,
believing that courage did not depend on years. By the side of aged
men, boys who had just been confirmed were seen to enter the ranks
of the volunteers, and handle their muskets with the same strength
and energy as veteran soldiers. No one, therefore, particularly
noticed the youthful age of the two volunteers who came forth from
the city hall, and were now crossing the place arm in arm.

"Now our lot is cast," said one of them, with a smile. "We are
soldiers!"

"Yes, we are soldiers," cried the other, "and we shall be brave
ones, Caroline!"

"Caroline!" echoed the other, in dismay. "How imprudent! Did we not
leave our female names with our wearing apparel at Berlin with the
Jew, Leonora?"

"Ah, and you call me, too, by my female name," said Leonora, with a
gentle smile. "No matter! it is all right enough so long as no one
hears it. We have no secrets from each other, and we are, therefore,
allowed to call each other by the names received at the baptismal
font."

"But before the world we call ourselves differently now; I am
Charles Petersen, and you--what is your name now, Leonora?"

"My name is Charles Renz," said Leonora, smiling. "That was the name
of my dear teacher, to whom I am indebted for what little knowledge
I have acquired, and who originally induced me to take the step I
have ventured upon. He had been a soldier a long time, and loved his
country and the royal family. History was his favorite study, and he
told me of the heroic deeds of ancient nations in their struggles
for liberty. His eyes beamed with transcendent ardor, and the words
flowed from his lips like a stream of poetry. He taught me that,
when the country was in danger, it was the duty of the women to take
up arms in its defence, and that there was no more beautiful death
than that on the field of honor. Joan of Orleans and the Maid of
Saragossa were his favorite heroines, and he always called Queen
Louisa the martyr of German liberty. When she died, three years ago,
the first idea that struck me was, how my old teacher would bear up
under this grief, and that it was incumbent upon me to comfort him.
I hastened to him, and found him sad and disheartened. 'Now my hopes
for Germany are gone,' he said, 'for the genius of German liberty
has left us and fled to heaven. Beautiful and noble Queen Louisa
might, perhaps, have still inspired the Germans to rise in arms
against the tyrant; but she is dead, and liberty has died with her.'
'No,' I cried, 'no! liberty will blossom from her grave. Germany
will rise to avenge the martyrdom of the queen; Germany's wrath will
be kindled anew by the sufferings of this august victim that
Napoleon's tyranny has wrung from us. Yes, the country will rise to
avenge Louisa.' He gazed at me a long while, and his tears ceased to
flow. After a prolonged pause he said: 'If it be as you say, if
Germany take up arms, what will you do, Leonora? Will you stay at
home, knit stockings, and scrape lint, or will you sacrifice your
heart, your blood, your life, and be a heroine?' I exclaimed,
joyously: 'I will sacrifice all to the fatherland, and help to
achieve the victory, or die on the battle-field!' The eyes of my old
teacher were radiant with delight. 'Swear it to me, Leonora,' he
cried, 'swear to me, by all that is sacred--swear by the memory of
our sainted Queen Louisa!' I laid my hand on the Bible, and swore by
the memory of Queen Louisa to fight like a man and a hero. I am now
about to fulfil my oath, and, as my dear old teacher has died, I
have adopted his name as my inheritance, and call myself Charles
Renz. It seems to me it is a doubly sacred duty now to be brave, for
I must do honor to my teacher's name."

"And you will do so, I am sure," cried Caroline. "And I will do so,
too, Leonora. No teacher has impelled me to love my native land.
This sentiment is spontaneous; perhaps because I have nothing else
to love. I am alone in the world; my dear parents are dead; I have
no brothers or sisters, no lover; and inasmuch as I have nothing to
love, I gave up my heart to hatred. I hate the French, and, above
all, Napoleon, who has brought so much misery on Europe, and for ten
years has spilt rivers of blood. It is hatred that has incited me--
hatred has forced the sword into my hand, and when we go into
battle, I shall not only call, like you, 'Long live the fatherland!'
but add, 'Death to the tyrant Napoleon, the enemy of the Germans!'
Yes, I hate this Bonaparte more intensely than I love my own life;
and, as I could not stab him with the needle, with which I made caps
and bonnets for the fair ladies of Berlin, I have cast it aside, and
taken up the sword. That is my whole history--the history of the ci-
devant milliner Caroline Peters, the future horseman Charles
Petersen."

"What!" ejaculated Leonora, in amazement. "You intend to enlist in
the cavalry?"

"If they will accept me. I am well versed in horsemanship, for when
my father was still living I rode out with him every day. He was a
much-respected farmer in the suburbs of Stralsund, and owned many
horses. During the siege of Stralsund he lost every thing, and we
were reduced to extreme poverty. My father died of grief, and since
that time I have not again mounted a horse. But I think I still know
how to manage one, and am not afraid of doing so."

"But why will you? Why not remain in the infantry, which would be
much more natural and simple?"

"Why? Shall I tell you the truth, Leonora? Let me tell you, then,
confidentially; it is because long marches would incommode me. And
you? Would it not be better for you to follow my example?"

"No," said Leonora, "I shall remain in the infantry, and become one
of Lutzow's riflemen--a member of the Legion of Vengeance.--I
believe we have arrived at the house designated to us. Major von
Lutzow lives here; the numerous volunteers who are going in and out
show that we have reached his headquarters. Now, Caroline, farewell!
and let me greet you, friend Charles Petersen!"

"Leonora, farewell! and let me greet you, friend Charles Renz!" They
shook hands and looked into each other's glowing faces.

"Forward now, comrade!" said Caroline, walking toward the house

"Forward!" echoed Leonora, jubilantly.

Arm in arm they walked across the gloomy hall to the low, brown
door, entering the room pointed out to them as Major von Lutzow's
recruiting-office. It was a large, low room; long tables, painted
brown, such as are to be found in small taverns or beer-saloons,
stood on both sides of the smoky whitewashed walls; low stools, of
the same description, were beside them, and constituted, with the
tables, the only furniture of this hall, where the citizens and
mechanics had formerly taken their beer, and where now the
volunteers came to take the oath of fidelity to the fatherland and
Major von Lutzow. In the middle of this room stood a young lady of
rare beauty. A plain black dress enveloped her form, reaching to her
neck and veiling her bust. Her face was very white and delicate, a
complexion to be found only among the fair daughters of the North;
her blond hair fell down in heavy ringlets beside her faintly-
flushed cheeks; a fervent light was beaming from her large light-
blue eyes.

"That is Madame von Lutzow, to whom the travellers in the stage-
coach alluded," said Leonora to herself; "it is the count's noble
daughter, who poured a glass of water over her hand because a
Frenchman had kissed it, and who descended from her father's castle
to marry a poor Prussian officer, whom she loved for the scars on
his forehead."

The beautiful lady approached the two young volunteers with a sweet,
winning smile. "You wish to see Major von Lutzow, do you not?" she
inquired. "Unfortunately, he is not at home; pressing business
matters prevent him from personally welcoming the young heroes who
wish to join him. He has charged me with doing so in his place, and
you may believe that I bid you welcome with as joyous a heart as my
husband would do."

"Oh, we are so happy to be received by you," said Leonora, smiling,
"for we were told at Berlin of noble and beautiful Madame von Lutzow
enlisting the Legion of Vengeance, and who is so true a
representative of the great idea of our struggle. For our struggle
is one both of vengeance and love. Since then we have longed to be
enlisted by you, madame, and to take our oath of fidelity."

"I accept it in the name of Major von Lutzow," said the lady, with a
gentle smile. "Here are your numbers, and now give me your names
that I may enter them in the recruiting book." She approached the
table on which the large open book was lying, and quickly noted down
the names which the two volunteers gave, affixing the numbers
already given. "Now, then," she said, kindly, nodding to them, "you
are enlisted in the sacred service of the fatherland, and I hope you
will do your duty. I hope you--"

At this moment the door was opened hastily, and a young man rushed
into the room.

"Theodore Korner!" ejaculated the lady, greeting him cordially.

"Yes, Madame von Lutzow, it is I," exclaimed the young man, saluting
the two volunteers--"it is I, and I come to you a prey to boundless
despair!"

Madame von Lutzow hastened to him, and looked with an expression of
heart-felt sympathy into his handsome, pale face.

"Yes, indeed," she said, "your face looks like a cloud from which
thunder and lightning may be expected at any moment. What is the
matter? What has happened to you, my poet and hero?"

"Come, let us go," whispered Caroline to her friend.

"No, let us stay," said Leonora, in a low voice. "If it is a secret,
they will bid us go; but I should like to know what ails the fine-
looking young man whom Madame von Lutzow calls a poet and a hero.
Oh, I have never yet seen a poet, and this one is so handsome!"

"Let us sit down on this bench," whispered Caroline, "and--"

"Hush, let us listen!" said Leonora, sitting down.

"It is not that, then?" exclaimed the lady, who in the mean time had
continued her conversation with the young man. "Your father has not
rebuked his son for the quick resolve he had taken."

"No, no," said Theodore Korner, hastily, "on the contrary, my father
approves my determination to enlist, and sends me his blessing. I
received a very touching letter from him this morning."

"It is his affianced bride, then, that has driven our poet to
despair, because he loves her more ardently than the fatherland,"
said Madame von Lutzow. "It is true, I cannot blame her for it, for
the woman that loves has but one country--the heart of her lover,
and she is homeless as soon it turns from her. But this is precisely
the grand and beautiful sacrifice--that you give up for the sake of
your country all that we otherwise call the greatest and holiest
blessings of life--your affianced bride; your pleasant, comfortable
existence; a fine, honorable position, and a future full of a poet's
fame and splendor. It is, indeed, a sacrifice, but a sacrifice for
which the fatherland will thank you, and which will incite thousands
to emulate your noble example."

"Would it were so!" exclaimed Korner, enthusiastically, raising his
large black eyes to heaven; "would that our patriotic ardor struck
all hearts like a thunderbolt, and kindled a conflagration, whose
flames would shed a lustre over the remotest times! I do not deny
that I felt how great was the sacrifice I made, but this very
feeling filled me with enthusiasm. All the stars of my happiness
were shining upon me in mild beauty, but I was not allowed to look
up to them because it was the night of adversity; but now that this
night is about to vanish, and a new morning is dawning, my stars,
too, must fade before the sun of liberty. That was the sacred
conviction which drove me away from Vienna, from my betrothed bride,
and caused me to cast aside all that otherwise imparts value to
life. A great era requires great hearts. I felt strong enough to go
out and bare my breast to the storm. Could I do nothing but sing
songs in honor of my victorious brethren? No one would have then
loved and esteemed me any longer; my parents would have been ashamed
of me, and my affianced bride would have contemptuously turned away
from the cowardly poet. Therefore, I gave up every thing for the
sake of my native land. It is true, my parents and my Emma will weep
for me. May God comfort them! I could not spare them this blow. It
is not much that I risk my life; but that this life is adorned with
love, friendship, and joy, and that I nevertheless risk it, is a
sacrifice that can be compensated only by love of country, more
sacred than any other love, and to it we should devote our life.
[Footnote: His own words.--Vide "Theodore Korner's Works," edited by
Carl Streckfuss p. 54] My noble father feels and knows this, and so
does my betrothed."

"And yet, agreed though you are with yourself and your dear ones,
why this despair?" asked Madame von Lutzow, with a smile.

Korner looked down in confusion, and then raised his flaming eyes
with a strange expression. "Ah, madame," he exclaimed, "I divine
your stratagem; it is that of an angel, and, therefore, worthy of
you."

"What stratagem do yon mean?" she asked, with a semblance of
surprise.

"The angelic stratagem by which you comforted me in my grief,
without knowing its cause. When I rushed so impolitely into this
room, I told you that I was in despair. And you, instead of urging
me to tell you at once the cause of it, inquired for the great
affairs of my life, and whether my affliction came from my parents
or my affianced bride. You thereby wished to admonish me that these
momentous affairs and relations of my life, not having lost their
harmony, my grief was, perhaps, but a passing dissonance, and that
it really might not be worth while to give way to despair on account
of it. I am sure, madame, I have understood you: was not this the
object of your questions?"

Madame von Lutzow nodded gently. "You have understood me," she said.
"I think in all our grievances we should, before giving way to
vexation or despair, lay the great questions of life before us, and
inquire whether that which weighs us down touches them, whether it
strikes at our true happiness. Now, if this is not the case, we
should bear the grievance lightly, and not consider it a misfortune.
To feel greatly what is great, and to heed little what is little, is
the true wisdom of life."

"You are right, as you always are," said Theodore Korner,
reverentially bowing to the beautiful lady, "and let me penitently
confess, then, that I have this time heeded greatly what is little
and have considered what grieved me a great misfortune. But now that
I have confessed my guilt, the guardian angel of the volunteers must
have mercy upon me and come to my assistance. For something very
unpleasant has really befallen me, and no philosophy can dispute
it."

"Well, confess what it is," exclaimed Madame von Lutzow, smiling.

"You know, madame, that our Legion of Vengeance is to be solemnly
consecrated at the village of Rochau, at the foot of the Zobtenberg,
on Sunday next?"

"Of course I do, and I shall accompany Lutzow and the volunteers in
order to witness the ceremony."

"At the village church we are all to appear for the first time in
our black uniforms, to receive the preacher's blessing, and to be
consecrated as soldiers of the fatherland. I myself have written a
poem, adapted to the air of an anthem, for this solemn occasion, and
all my comrades will sing it. After the sermon the volunteers in the
church will take the oath of war upon the swords of their officers.
I have been ardently yearning for this day, and now I shall probably
be unable to participate in its services, for--do not laugh, madame,
at my insignificant mishap--the tailor refuses to make me a uniform
by that time, and in citizen's clothes, as a fashionable dandy, I
really cannot appear among the brave men who will proudly walk about
in their litefkaes. The tailor says it is impossible for him to make
a uniform at so short a notice; he pretends to be overwhelmed with
work, and does not know where to find hands. Now you, the helping,
advising, and protecting genius of the volunteers, are my last
consolation and resort. If you send for the cruel tailor, and tell
him how important it is for me to participate in that ceremony, your
words will render possible what now he declares impossible.
Therefore, send for the tailor, madame; he fortunately lives close
by, in the court-yard, in the large rear building; order him to make
me a uniform, and he will have to do so, for who could withstand
your words?"

"Well, I will try," said Madame von Lutzow, smiling. "I will see
whether my words are so impressive as to move a tailor's heart."

"And if he is unable to comply with your wishes because he lacks
assistants," said Leonora, hastily rising from her seat near the
door, and approaching Korner and Madame von Lutzow, "I offer myself
as an assistant, for I am a tailor."

"So am I," exclaimed Caroline, vividly. "I know, too, how to ply the
needle, and am ready to assist in sewing a comrade's uniform."